Issue 5

Contest Winners

Mary Elizabeth Parker

Tarzan, My Tarzan


Slicker than any croc, Johnny Weismuller in the soup,
man/beast clamped in a death-squeeze. Why wouldn’t Jane
lose her chemise, artfully, tatter by tatter, for this: white form
underwater wagging fishy in a tussle, boy/girl, before the
censors nicked her back to rudimentary house-holding,
logic in the strangling trees and
Jane plunked safe on shore as the water churned: 
fretful now, wringing her hands. Years later, 
Greystoke battered his gloved fists against the cage
of a moth-eaten ape, Maman. Beneath ooze,
crocs wait their cue to rise and be knifed in the death-roll,
over and over man/woman/woman/man/man/woman/woman/man/man/woman/woman/man