Group 3

Ocean Manga

The sign, spray-paint, still inviting,

as I make my way to the oasis down Madrid

a few tables, a headshop next door, a chalked up menu

but no books to browse in a manga shoppe

the girl says they rent them, the manga,

and recommends a smoothie

Brick sprayed blue, under

a neon sign. In the reading

room, empty spaces have names

Sammiches, she says, surrounded by stars

It’s almost as awesome as the flavor,

claims the window.

SubHERBin promises high hopes.

When I walk along Madrid

Avenue I wonder why

there is an ocean in the desert

and why it’s a manga and not a mango.

The spray-painted blues

and reds animate,

and they animate hard,

and they animate hard to be seen.

Images of Japanese and MTG characters

coat the walls and hang in reflective pastels

I take a paper menu – they only sell food

that starts with “S,” everyone's friendly,

free internet for members, but without advertising

who knows such places exist –

an ocean nook, down a dusty road

in a small desert town

The only ocean is a photo

landscape stretch of beach

spread under the counter

in this desert diner 800 miles

the closest sea water

200 million years ago

this desert last an ocean.

Japan is a far away fantasy

doe-eyed comic book faces

with shag hairdos the only heroes

in this sashimi café

windows barred like jail cells

and we like two girls trapped

desolate on Madrid avenue

desire to be elsewhere

animated in manga imagination.

Ocean's 200 Million

landscape stretch

you say you want white sand

or wheat

and i hear there are fish bones

somewhere in that

geological animation

Contributors: Jeanine, Adam, Tim, Aaron