Mudlark No. 48 (2012)

Renting a Life

But only for 100 minutes. My George Clooney smile,
my washboard abdomen taking hit after hit. Twilight
love just another fang in the throat. Almost everything bleeds, 
where we wait among the lost luggage, the oozy work-out
bag with a head or two. Yet everything happens here: a girl
seeking her convict father, dragging two siblings behind 
her. This man’s dreams entering my head, as if sorrow were an 
absorbable paste. Or catch me in my wheelchair, moving 
a computer wand in my teeth, my arms useless and damp.
Another IED. Or was that her last kiss, her last
knife in the back? You think teen-age sex can survive low-salt
French kisses? I hear the planes. The sports cars crashing into  
buildings. Get the chocolate, the good-for-you almonds, the black
licorice from Australia. Take me to bed. Keep lying.

John Allman | The Insulated Bag
Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)