Prose Poetry and Fiction from Web del Sol

Peter Johnson


I believe in the God of the Hebrews and also Moses, but know them only through movies. “Moses, Moses,” on Pharaoh’s dying lips. I think of Moses, impressed by his durability. The first sight of unending sand would have driven me down. I’d have been all over Jethro’s daughters like a hot Israel robe.... An old theater, large, golden snakes writhing on the circular ceiling, imitation gargoyles on brass balcony railings, seats so soft they could swallow you up. On screen, Moses and his long, grey hair, Moses parting the Red Sea, Moses on our lips at Nick’s where you could buy four red-hots for a dollar. At the bus stop not even Moses able to keep four kids from pummeling an old lady with her own purse. A black, leather purse, with two fake diamonds flashing under the streetlights with each whack.