The Romantic Lead by Ian Williams
I yawned all the while we stood on the prow of a ship
with our arms open in front of a green screen,
I mean, a sunset. The week before I had to watch myself,
my black and white self in a fedora, quick step through lines,
We’ll always have Paris, though we were in Morocco, though
we were on a couch, technically, with all her friends
when I charged in and said, You complete me. I zoned out
in Stratford in a tomb when I found her dead,
just kidding, she was drugged up. Then when I woke up
at the edge of a lake, her friends were back, this time
as swans, and I wasn’t clear on what I was doing
in tights and a mullet. I zoned out again. We went back
to the dumpster and ate spaghetti—you low down
you dog you sweet thing you—till we kissed, till we boogied.
To learn more about Ian Williams, visit his website by clicking here.