In this issue, there's a poem by Joanne Lowery about the Ed Sullivan show and it reminds me of a memory of watching the Ed Sullivan show when I was a kid.  One Sunday night, Ed had a magician on.  Ed had lots of magicians on, usually flashy and usually working with a girl or two, unlike Ed.  This magician looked like an accountant.  Short-sleeved white shirt and a tie.  Very little in the way of charisma.  He did card tricks.  Specifically, he made cards disappear before our eyes.  Here's my recollection:  The camera gave us a tight shot of his hand.  He'd put a card in the hand.  He put the hand out so the camera could clearly see the card in his hand.  He wouldn't move his hand and the card would disappear. The card wouldn't just disappear, it would fade out. The card would be there.  We'd see it start to fade and see the guy's hand fade in behind the card.  And it would be gone.

Ed had reassured us there were no camera tricks.  (There is no proof that Ed Sullivan ever told a single lie in his life.)  This had to be no later than 1965 or 1966.  If there had been camera tricks, I'm not sure exactly how they would have pulled if off.

Here's my simulation, except this simulation involves a card with Don Rumsfeld disappearing.

The tricks were all pretty much the same.  Look at the card.  The card is here.  Now it's going away.  Now it's gone.  The tricks were both amazing and sort of boring.  This magician, flat of affect, absent much in the way of flourish.  No misdirection.  No smiling girls with skimpy costumes and broad, distracting gestures.  Just this guy, making playing cards vanish into thin air.  The crowd applauded a little, and then the applause died down.  I think they might have been a bit bewildered.  I never saw this magician again.

What if there really was an ordinary, boring guy with real magic powers?  Would he be forced to try to make a living as a magician?  What if the tricksters did better on the magic show circuit than he could?  What if the guy who really could make cards vanish into thin air had to sit by and enviously watch the showmen upstage him with sleight of hand?

Previously, I mentioned that Allan Peterson, whose chapbook Any Given Moment appears on, in, or at^* Right Hand Pointing, won the University of Massachusetts Press Juniper Prize for Poetry.  His winning collection, All the Lavish in Common, is now available.  I have a copy and it's terrific.  There's not another poet whose work I enjoy reading more than Allan's.  Order here.