You throw me,

Shrieking,

Into the river

Off the bridge where,

you said,

Portland hung himself

Six or seven years

past

I splash and raise a little

ruckus,

Stay under

to scare you—

Hang with the fishes and

Wonder if there exists

a single inch

of bright, green earth

Where tragedy

Has yet to strike

Last 5 articles by Adrienne Johnson

• And Even in This Last Frontier - December 7th, 2007
• The Lightning Bug - October 5th, 2007
• Little Leather Secret - August 31st, 2007
• Giuliani shaping up to be the best option - April 27th, 2007