In response to Frank O’Hara’s “A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island”:
Why is She Always Right?
She screeched into the driveway
why doesn’t she shift?
That poor car sounds like a dragon –
but only when she drives it.
My eyes closed
the projector in my brain began its nightly duty
bright colors, flashes, then the film caught
the show started on my screeny eyelids.
There she was – sitting on the beach
but she was half – dragon
I looked down – I was still human
I wasn’t relieved
She was green, scaly, but always, always
people saw her as beautiful
She wore a purple corset
that just flaunted her lack of breasts
She flirted with an attractive male dragon
he kind of looked like Ben Stiller
She ran, he chased
she climbed a cliff, bounding from rock to rock
but they were bouncy
like trampolines
I followed – I had to save her
no one followed me
I came around a boulder
she was perched, ankles crossed, back straight
on a freeway sign “Carmen Dr. – 36 miles”
She didn’t even look at me
much less thank me
for what I don’t know
Her fang – filled mouth opened
between puffs of dragon smoke
she said “Is he gone yet?
I mean, he’s good enough for you, but not for me!”
Why is she always right?
The car screeched out – lights on my ceiling
why doesn’t she shift?
it sounds like a dragon
but only when she drives it.
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