Clinton St. Quarterly T w a s a nuclear Christmas when all through the shelter, every creature was glowing and ran helter skelter. T h e stockings were hung on the wall with precision, in hopes that the mutant would bring some provisions. T h e children were nestled all snug neath the floor, in hopes of avoiding a Fourth World War. A nd momma in her kerchief and I in my cap slouched in the corner with our heads in our laps. Then up on the street there arose such a clatter I sprang from the floor, lost control of my bladder. W hen what to my wondering eyes l should spy, but a two-headed man with eight arms and six eyes. Only one leg had he and his skin was translucent, I knew in a moment it must be the mutant. In the fallout he called out, I could hear him complaining, “It’s cold and it’s lonely and this acid keeps raining. “ My eyes they are blinded and I’m losing my hair, my right leg is aching and my left legs not there. “ I’ve seventeen ears and more that keep growing, the amount I’ll end up with there’s no way of knowing. Cartoonist-writer John Callahan lives in Portland. His recent features in CSQ include “Nuns" and "How to Relate to Handicapped People."
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