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Phillip Lopate describes the shape of Manhattan Island as‘a luxury liner, permanently docked, going nowhere’. This feeling of being tethered to the land, unable to get to sea, was a feature of New York life for much of the twentieth century. New York was an island without a coast. The West Side piers that once welcomed the Lusitania spent most of the twentieth century crumbling or behind barbed wire, while the East Side’s coves and points were cut off from pedestrians by six lanes of the Robert Moses-designed Franklin Delano Roosevelt Drive. It wasn’t much easier to reach the shores of Brooklyn, Queens or the Bronx, either: with a few exceptions, they were largely reserved for municipal or industrial use, and easiest to see from the Staten Island Ferry (en route to the borough with the most beaches). Now, slowly, the city is reclaiming its shoreline, with some spectacular results.

Bloodworms by M. A. Istvan Jr.

OBJECT: Bloodworms, Fish

BODY OF WATER: Hudson River

 

It was striper season in the early nineties

on the eastern bank of the Hudson River,

just south of the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge. 

My dad, bareback-sloshed with beer and sun,

had his deep-sea pole cast for food. To him

no matter were the toxicity warnings 

on most fish north of the Tappan Zee. 

 

When my dad reeled in a hook gone empty, 

it was my job to pass him the white carton

of gas station bloodworms—too little 

to do much more than pass, too afraid 

to dig through that mesh of moist seaweed

for a seven-inch aggressive: venom-fanged, 

a band of pulsing skin tags down each side.

 

Inevitably my dad would slur, “Wanna try 

baitin’ the bitch?” His casual delivery,

so he knew, painted the task so trouble-free

that the command at the core of his question 

stood out all the more. But he was not serious.

He knew me. He would leave me nerve-racked, 

just a moment, before showing how easy it was. 

 

A squeeze to protract its eversible proboscis,

my dad would let the four black fangs pierce

his nicotine finger, leaving the worm to dangle

for me. Then he would drive the hook down 

the retracting mouth, throughout the pink body.

So much blood, the color of ours, would pool 

in the creases of his hands, dripping to rocks.


 

M. A. ISTVAN JR. is a zodiac surgeon and respected board member of the National Council for Geocosmic Research. Whereas most other zodiac surgeons are equipped to shift your sign only one position forward, Istvan can shift your sign either one position forward or—barring the unlikely circumstance that you are a menopausal Pisces with a quadruped gait—even one position back. Istvan hopes that increased awareness about zodiac surgery will help bring in the funding required for researching zodiac sign transplantation, which ideally will allow a shift to any of the twelve signs in a matter of hours (as opposed to the years it takes currently to shift just one spot). As Istvan recently revealed in an interview with Shadow Transits, he envisions a future where there will be a zodiac donor box on driver’s licenses. https://txstate.academia.edu/MichaelIstvanJr.