The Ghosts of Jay MillAr by Jay Millar

our
    line of sight. We were just looking at each other, there;
    and it was the happiest moment of our lives, all those eyes
    no more than a foot away from one another and looking in.
    Later we would come to realize (was it inside the liquor
    store, between the French reds and the cann’d beer?)
    that marriage is an art built on eye contact
    that cannot stop because the hold never does.
    Afterward we left the liquor store,
    walking through the automatic door as it slid open,
    bottles swinging and the presence of laughter, and on
    the other side of the door we were divorced by reality.
    Perfectly Ordinary Dream #1620 (August 17, 1925)
    The imagination could thrive in worse places of the world. It had become this particular newlywed couple’s best interest to spend whole days hiding in the most expensive bookstores in town. No one ever bothered them there, and they were free to hug and kiss in the most exciting ways between the shelves. Occasionally they would browse through a poetry volume or two, but they found them dull and vile. They preferred returning to each other’s company, perhaps foolishly over a blueberry muffin and apple juice at the snack counter. They were in love at each moment in the bookstore, happy to be holding hands and smiling, ignoring all the literature of the world. On one occasion, they both noticed Edward De Vere standing at one of the shelves, admiring one of his more recently published books. They exchanged a glance of concern. Both were wondering, as young couples might, why such a man would appear in this bookstore. Surely he was entirely out of place. In a room filled with characters dressed in the traditional neon colour’d garments of that country he seemed a parody of history wearing his sixteenth-century wool knickers and vest, the long ruffled Elizabethan coat and a pair of thin black leather shoes. Even his hairstyle added to his ridiculous costume. Somewhat longish, as though he were wearing a wig. It was tied at the back of his head with a velvet ribbon showing the weariness of age. The couple suddenly remembered the five dollars. They began to drift towards the door, shielding their faces as best they could with any available pamphlets, sticks, or newspapers. De Vere spotted them, however, and intercepted them in front of the store. He immediately demanded the return of his five dollars, exclaiming ‘how is one to eat if everyone is constantly removing his money from his person!? A man has to eat, or poetry is nothing!’ And he began slapping the young man about the face, though without any real violence, for when one is dealing with magic, violence can only be erotic. Despite this, the young man did in fact find himself growing somewhat annoyed, for De Vere squealed ‘Five Dollars!’ very loudly in a high-pitched voice for almost half an hour as he continued his assault. In a fit of exasperation, the young man suddenly tackledEdward De Vere about the waist and lifted him (he was so light, the young man thought) upon his shoulders. And much to the rage and hollering of the great poet, (‘five dollars! five dollars,..!’) the young man began to spin around and around on the sidewalk in front of the book-store. The scene is very quiet. It is only the young man and Edward De Vere. No one else dares to enter the picture. At last the constant spinning became too much for the young man, and De Vere was ejected from his shoulders, landing in a crumpled heap in the gutter of the street where he lay for some time, until a smile surfaced on his ragged face. Standing, he straightened his collar (for he wore no tie) gave many thanks to the young man for his hospitality, and bid him good-day.
    Perfectly Ordinary Dream #254 (February 20,1981)
    How sad the depression was. Yet, throughout it all, the 1930s were the light sparks of excitement rattling in his bones. All those decades riding the rails he never saw the poverty leave this world, and it was his conclusion