Vol.15, No.84, April/May 2012
The Last Ride
by Jean E. Carriere

We were f i f t e e n , Louise and I, when grandfather bought my cousin a horse. I should have been pleased that she chose to name the beast Johnny; and I should have been pleased at being offered the inaugural ride on my namesake. I wasn’t.

Once a week, we headed to the riding stables in St. Foy. Louise, the equestrian, always chose the friskiest animal, which she rode with assurance and authority. I, on other hand, always selected the slowest, the gentlest horse, preferably one that had pulled a milk wagon in its youth.

When grandfather told her to choose a horse, I was not surprised that she had picked a high-spirited three year-old Chestnut measuring over eighteen hands. What did surprise me, however, was that she had named a mare - Johnny.
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Vol.15, No.84, April/May 2012
Villanelle To A Departed Car
by Wally Kasper

Oh Blessed bucket of bolts, you were a work of art,
You saw me through my high school days, so happy and carefree,
Polished and so shiny you never failed to start.
You took us to the graduation prom, where she did steal my heart,
You proudly carried her, she of the pretty face, soon my bride to be,
Oh Blessed bucket of bolts, you were a work of art.
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