Thermopolis
One hand in the peanut jar,
baby toe in the mudbath,
Connie Hayes waits for the geyser.
Somewhere in the bottom of
her purse, a lotto ticket that
will cleanse her life of suspense.
No more the secretly gay boyfriend,
the riflenut co-worker,
goo-goo friends who crib their
advice from eponymous magazines.
She will buy a penguin,
then a hot car –
but one that won’t attract thieves.
She and her penguin (Peter)
will conduct a tour of
North America and pose before
random retail outlets:
the Barnes & Noble in Tonawanda,
the Mint Bar in Sheridan,
the Piggly Wiggly in Jonesboro.
She will flash the photos to
the Internet so that her
so-called friends may better
digest their hearts.
Honey? Feelin’ good?
Peter, back from his massage,
a blond lock ducking his forehead,
exponential boyishness.
She works up a smile like she’s
cranking a batch of ice cream.
Waiting for the geyser.
Peter? Do men ever
make passes at you?
He laughs.
All the time.
It’s okay. I guess I’m flattered.
Outside the window,
Napa’s Old Faithful
(anorexic cousin to Yellowstone’s)
shoots the blue.
Connie laughs.
What?
Nothing. Hey, remind me to
stop by the store for a lotto ticket.
From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV
No comments:
Post a Comment