Richard Pearse

You, If Only

     Just as I’m leaving my box at the opera, you’re holding up the drugstore,
and why not–it’s spring! Or I’m receiving the note that exposes you: chief
accountant for the CIA. And so my afternoon heaves up and buckles like a
bad road, while you go flirting all through Amsterdam.

     But then, thanks to your soft-focus technique, the world rises out of your
eye. A small x on it–this very room! You’ve come home! You drop your suit-
case on my thumb, I throw my vodka in your face--that’s how beautiful you
are. Every time you kiss me, you swear you’re sincere, and if not, may all our
windows, clear-eyed, extinguish and condemn you. Oh, if only.

read "Bo Grumpus Balls the Jack" by Richard Pearse