Postcards From Thrillsville

If I really knew you, these are the ones I would pick.

I’d like to see that faded Polaroid

from five years ago

in your bathrobe

eating corn flakes

some frizzy hairs sticking out

not especially thrilled to be photographed

the same day, though you may have forgotten,

that you went to the park by the river

and watched cardinals chase cardinals all afternoon.


How about the one of you

in a tight black Grateful Dead shirt

on the yellow comforter in your room

with your marvelous smile, amused and natural

athletics ribbons on the wall

and your line drawing of the Wonder Wheel

you’re looking up

the Dead skull’s looking down

magnolia blossoms quiver at the window.

Is that still around your mom’s house somewhere,

or am I just imagining this one?


The picture of you that I really want

is a poster print, autographed in silver

with a heart and a large, looping L

like the drop and a hill on a roller coaster.

You are boldly silhouetted on white

your expression too formidable to count as a smile

lipstick, eye shadow, the whole thing

your hair a slick curve

pulling up short of your right shoulder

tailored jacket and black miniskirt

fishnet stockings to the middle of your thighs

feet set apart

you are determination and sophistication.

In a moment, it seems,

you’ll aim a gun right back at the camera

and leave ‘em guessing whether you pull the trigger.

The End

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