Aperçus Quarterly 2.1

Tim KrcmarikBirth of The CoolWhat I would give to have been a flyon the maternity ward’s cold green tilesthe day The Cool was born,to have seen the ob-gyn’s faceas The Cool swam forthfrom his mother’s ancient agonyinto the 1950’s, which up to that pointwould have been populatedby nerds wearing pocket protectorsand coke bottle glassesfastened at the bridgewith loops of thick, white tape—the kind of squares unable to comprehendthis infant geniussporting a pair of dark Wayfarers,smoking a Lucky Strike and ratta-tat-tattingon his pint-sized conga drums.Not like me, quick to recognizethe start of something wonderfulin the sixty thousand hexagonsof my dinner plate eyes.Not like me, beboppin’ alongon the polleny clarinetof my proboscis.11