Two Poems
Catherine Moran

Ganz

on the hill
atop Steeles avenue
the Ganz stuffed-toy warehouse
unloaded three workers out the side door
on a smoke break,
on the way out
one pushed the other on the shoulder and
told him to "just fuck off, buddy"

these -- the same men
who make pink bunnies
with lopsided ears,
bashful elephants,
and coy kitties,

those whose insides
are all tiny beads.

Apples

empty limbs
on every streetcar,
bus, in each taxicab,

she dropped
some apples there
and he
didn't know just how
to help her

he blushed,
letting one
roll away.

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