Irish '73

by Lance Mazmanian


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​Modern Maryland US
has a trillion shiny sea crabs many just sitting
there in cold waters until they
discover a fine cage and inside they go, when later they
move from sea to boat to Isuzu 2026 freight body truck
which eventually rattles and bumps past a woman who
decorated her playing fields in college and spun
through professional worlds up high wearing fashion-desired suit and
keeping her legs in major muscle from
various things including her deep Irish blood
and eyes that made her glow in a way that strawberry hair will do
and I remember her days spent long with vast humor and
chocolate stuff in a beach house her family somehow bought in 1973
for nothing, now worth US$1-million, though its cracky wood
and paint still looks like ’73, though fairly well
maintained as the cool hippie place she looks lovely around, especially
with her early 30s anatomy, polished and confident and of course her
personal decades well nourished by Maryland crab
and lots of Speckled Amish
lettuce, delicious with extra olives from a famous local street shoppe and
plenty of good pure water from bottles.
I remember her laughs and silly stuff
plus the Atlantic where she loved so much gold sand
and wind, where she sat in a Moeva one-piece knitted blue, sitting
and watching the waves and the passage of translucentish
daylight moon
while she likely remembered
me.

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Lance Mazmanian has been part of various entertainment and arts since Dr. Smith damned near burned down the Jupiter 2.


​​​​SHARE - Issue: 1.8 / April 2026