MEMORY OF MIDDLE IOWA, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

by on March 28, 2008 :: 0 comments

It begins at the Trek convention
with the slim girl in the diaphanous blouse
who arrived with the conclusion:
this is the best place to get
the most guys in bed over a weekend.

Her rapture turns into a song
echoed down the hotel’s hallways
and is taken up as the new theme
for a boys-grown-old club
where, for twenty hours,
some guys think they are special.

But the numbness
that invades a marriage
dampens the thunder of orgasms,
until, really, it might as well
be the cough of a passer-by.

And elsewhere there is a guy—
a husband—struck by lightning,
as he puts the pieces together
from the convention blogs
after his business meetings.

She continues to walk
through the dark and dizzy nights
where the cliff-face is at hand
and, perhaps, she’ll fall off—
if not at the convention,
then when she gets home
to learn that it is now a house
with a broken furnace.

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