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.
Lit from the Basement is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com (this means as Amazon associates, we earn from qualifying purchases).