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By this subtle gesture I know that Roommate has had an argument
with her boy friend. This is a bi-weekly occasion, always followed by
Roommate's crying on my shoulder for at least two hours. As a result
one of my best sweaters is actually faded from her tears. By now I am
resigned to my fate-a D in English composition. I put away my paper,
containing two sentences and due tomorrow morning.

This is the reason why at 6:00 a.m., the sun rising over College
Hill finds me full of coffee and No-Doze pills, still attempting to com-
pose a masterpiece of creative writing. My biggest problem is not
knowing what to write about, because nothing interesting ever hap-
pens to ME.

Traffic At Night

JAMES RHINESMITH

long twinning coils
of white bright lights

rubbing bellies
with their red eyed cousins

rolling twisting
into the night

sweaty black macadam
cooled by the dusk

lying over farm and field
surging through steel

and concrete cities
flying over thundering rivers
bridging town to city

speeding whirling
glints of silver

catch the shining
beams of light

seeking searching
into the night

roll on roll on roll on
such streaming light
into the darkest night

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