Milton Academy - Yearbook (Milton, MA)

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Gordon Burnes 1 f if Q n f g ' o V V : Wu N ' I My ' 'f-In. 'FJ' it S if '- o o f fi o o o How. of X , 'Q f' M N, , , f-1-any Bob Colman

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Porche 944 A Porche 9449 nobody really owns one: you just see themg the image, the idea fexpensive, fast, sleekj. Who drives them? William turned off 17th Street and descended into the bowels of his office building. The tires screeched as he pulled into a space marked with his name. After put- ting the radar detector in the glove compartment and taking off his Varne sunglasses, he got out of his car, knocking off his Stetson on the roof as he stood upg but it was O.K., because nobody saw him. The clicking of his cowboy boots ring- ing in his ears, he walked towards the elevator while taking out a pipe from the wide left pocket of his Brooks Brothers gray flannel suit jacket. The elevator trip always seemed unbearably longg filled with thoughts about the coming day's agenda, his wife. He was al- ways alone. It's along and lonely trip to the top, he said with a Andrew Gross Martha Carroll chuckle as he got off at the top floor, still puffing on his pipe. Good Morning Mr. Garvin. Good Morning Mr. Garvin. He just nodded, never answering. For William it was a long way to the top, but he wouldnit let you know it for a second. At a cocktail party that night, wearing three rings and concealed under his silk shirt, tie and jacket his gold chain lno cowboy attire this timej, Wil- liam found himself talking to a rel- ative stranger, james Bodin. So jim, you said that you were at Yale, what year? Class of '55. Well, I'm class of '57. Oh, I didn't realize that you were a Yale man.,' No denial. The conversation switched and Wil- liam's wife, who had been listen- ing with horror, pulled William aside and said, You went to Bos- ton College, why did you tell that man you went to Yale? I never said that I went to Yale. He was always careful not to, and to be appropriately sophis- ticated for any social occasion, even if it was stretching the truth. His head pounding from his se- vere hangover, William at 6:00 the next morning was jogging along the Potomac River, past the Ken- nedy Center, past the Watergate, across the Memorial Bridge and all the way to the Pentagon and back. The rain mixing with his sweat on his soaking shirt. His gold chain around his neck catching the light of the street lamps he passed under. His hair, dyed brown to keep away any gray, matted against his headg alone, always alone. The image, the dreamg poor boy grows upg Porche - there is no substitute. Thorn Pozen 33

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A Music Series I . Like words, a silence flutters, It is the language of strings Motionless, a hummingbird, hung Echoing the earth's droughts from the sky, like faith. sounding of dying naked worms - Descending of cracking dust - the sparrow hawk Ending on a tree branch, where silence is the On Still Wings sound of breathing. strikes the end of a pawprint trail. Iosh Gray It holds the mole that the snake, sliding through wet leaves and green goldenrod stems, had missed. Motovespa Live sleek live loud live fuel-efficient Live the flashing of red lights ahead through the rain Live anonymous roads enigmatic companions Live weave swerve verve nerve engines vigor in vain The roar of the engines the song of the darkness - The cool easy darkness that fits like a hood - Bright green polyurethane hard cushion seats Taillights flash and beckon you young gorging good Motovespa - invite you to live There are no lines we cannot cross There are no cars we cannot pass Cars - so pragmatic and straightforward safe frm The yolk of adulthood cherubically chafe We're young loud lighthearted the temperature's warm ' ' Run longer pant harder is there no escape - ggg: l ggg gg Motovespa - invite you to live. T' T Rob Sheffield Iohn Bisbee PIETAS When white-capped waves, winds, whirlpool full moon rise, Anonymous Her prow asunder, leafy oars will drag. Brine in his black hair, Aeneas surprised, Unconscious, shipwrecked, held by foreign crag. Salt seaweed, sand dried blood, spared from his grave, Trojan Aeneas with Carthageis Queen, Dallied, hidden by the dank, darkened cave, While barren twigs midst rocks matured bud-green. Iove, spurred by Fate, sent Mercury in haste, Let Dido abdicate passion's love-reign, Her pyre flames Aeneas' Trojan race. Must Pietas burn brighter than love's flame? A life perforce will end, begun so soon, An embryo withheld, by debt consumed. Katharine Appleton Downes