Join us on the last Thursday of each month at Vibe Coffee House for the Final Thursday Reading Series.  Come to hear the featured reader or take the stage during the open mic to read your best five minutes of poetry, fiction, or creative non-fiction.  Open mic signup begins @ 7 p.m.  on a first come, first served basis.  Limited slots are available, so readers are encouraged to sign up early.  The open mic begins at 7:30 p.m. and runs about one hour. Writers will each have five minutes to read their best work.  The evening's featured reader, takes the stage after that.

Vibe is located at 909 W. 23rd St. in Cedar Falls on the second floor of Bought again Books.  Persons needing access accommodation should call 266-7115 by the day before the event.

Other Assets

by Kathleen Kelly

For extra cash, I tutor my peers.

Her father enters our study room

taps C on the heirloom Steinway,

proof their blood still runs blue.

He always pays me by the hour, to the quarter hour,

quite a time-clock maneuver

for a Marxist philosopher.

This afternoon--it's different.

He pays me salary.

His fingertips no longer play

the C key

but me--

          not legato--staccato

         abbreviated,

          punctuated.

Your brain will do you well

but those other assets even better.

He pulls at me

Lips cold

then cherry red, coloring

to the chord of a triad.

Red Windmills

by Kathleen Kelly

"Mademoiselle..." the pouting proprietor pursues me

in front of his live theater, a venue voyeur.

Perhaps I should address him as Monsieur,

or be more personal--"is it Jean-Paul, Jacques or Pierre?"

Les Doriss girls sway

their hips "oui" and kick their heels higher

"oui, monsieur"--"do you like this?" they implore.

"Do you want to try?  You can do the can-can too"

assured my sixth grade music teacher.

Dimpled cheeks, glossy lips,

arms twirling in the air--

flickers of fuchsia and lemon lights

flash Formidable

of and on.

He approaches me again

all debonair, a chevalier--

"You move like a dancer, such grace,

you glide--a natural for the stage.

Mademoiselle, would you give it a try?"

I smile and look away

into the boulevard, bright

in the late afternoon sun, busy

below le Sacre-Couer

straightening my spaghetti straps,

securing my slingbacks

(Jeanne cinches her armor at Orleans).

"No, merci, monsieur."

"Too bad, ma petite fille," he says

flicking his Gauloise's ashes

into the graded gutter.