Friday, April 18, 2014

Poem: 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.


Nothing. Hey, remind me to
stop by the store for a lotto ticket.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo 
Photo by MJV

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