Poem

My Career on the Boards

/ /

And then we lay still in our bluestem fortress. Nearby are headstones, leaning and sinking. An apple in hand, a hat that reads SPORT, “So what are you, really?” he asks like a sphinx. …………….“That’s,” I laugh, “what the miser said ……………….When sophomore year I played …………….The cloaked and tight-lipped dead-faced

Ghost of Christmas Future: Remember my winging, Straight at Scrooge, one long-nailed finger?” A friendly tease is a pleasing thing. I watch his teeth break the apple’s skin, …………….And with mineral glamor he arches a brow. ……………….“One year,” I add, “I wore a cloud …………….Of beard and played the shouting

Cheddar-loving cruise-ship castaway—” “Always,” he asks, “bit parts?” “Always,” I say, “a mask”— And he kisses me right on the lips. Cottonwood cotton Drifts on the draft like a pillow’s been shot. …………….“Once,” I say, “they cast me as ‘singer,’ ……………….COUSIN ROY, COUNTRY SINGER …………….WANNABE.” His smile lingers.