- Andrew Rosentock

On Tuesday last, we roared like lions,
Alarming even a confusèd king
Who startled on his gated tuft
As courtiers began to wail:
“They clearly skirted all the proper channels!
Left us the crusty dishes, took the tablecloth!”

It’s nothing new: The emperor’s got no clothes.
While others studied history, he was doing lines,
Avoiding sticky situations through his handy channels.
’Tis true, some shady men are chosen king.
But let our schools of fish be canny as a whale,
Our defense in numbers—strong, unbroken lines.

Not all who think straight can be really tough—
Canvas can quickly turn to mere cheesecloth,
Suddenly nobody’s manning the gunwales;
We clutch for certain comfort like our comrade Linus,
Whatever keeps away the raw—
Dreaming fiercely how to change the channel.

Perhaps our leader will be in Chanel,
Or captain of an ice cream truck.
He may be grilling now at Burger King.
To cut the cord, we’ll need some noble clothes:
All those in this room know in their loins—
It will require something with a whale.

So till ’08 we would do well
To keep our oars straight in the channel,
Draw new lines and color in the lines,
And keep the mud off of our cuffs,
By flying the flag of a singular cloth:
The straight and narrow known as corduroy.

These lines are minnows to a whale—
The King would toss them in the Channel.
But we’ll prevail. We have the winning cloth.

- Emily Gordon

Soft to the touch,
never rushed, hush hush
oh my dear how i love
these here cords so much
Like wine, your mine
All time, Your mine
On my mind, you make
Make me dizzy gettin busy
With the wales and all your tufts,
Never mind, and Never question
What I’m dressin’…Don’t be messin’
With these fines, said
Long-legged ladies!
Short rumpy bumps!
In line behind me till I feel that thump,
Cause they can not stand — got to move in close
Undress caress me while I give this toast,
To all the inovators, Number one creators — puff puff
And inhale, Now check the details– word up jimmy wales –
All that wikedpedia, the cords up in your media,
now book me on expedia — next flight out tonight-
up up and away, I want a beautiful balloon, to say
what i want to say, back in the day, we wore em Low down
To the shows, don’t matter know hows, cause we know how,
To get started– soft like velvet to the touch, butter crused,
cause the tufts be ever slightly rough,
its like their ribbed for her enpleasurement now show me what the
measurement?

- A.M. Edwards

In the beginning
it was the sweet
swish swish
of the boys in the hall
on those dark January afternoons
in the Canadian high school of my youth
rushing to their secret destinations
their unwashed cords
crisp with an unnamed scent
known only to other girls
girls in the band
but not my kind of band
just
the other kind
of band

and later
an unraveling
thread
a boy in a lecture hall
on a dark January afternoon
his brown, velvet-soft jacket
(but no, it wasn’t velvet)
thread-bare
stained
the elbows patched
the buttons dangling
like his lip
when he stumbled
on a word
or a clasp

but now
it is mine
it is mine
the swish
the sweet swish swish
the cords
no longer brown
and beige
and beige-like
but multi-hued
an interesting cut
across the bias

my love of cord
is mine.

I say

my voice no longer
timorous
trembling
truncated

swish, swish
yes
swish, swish
yes.

SWISH, SWISH

YES

-Margaret Milnes

- Erin Hicks

- Rob

- Rene

- Halle