for lack of a better title
I dreamt I was in the school play
A musical about the
Triangle Shirt Waist Fire
Of all things.
Dress rehearsal
Fin de siècle bustle and blouse
Make good tinder.
Horsing around backstage
Elaborate adolescent improv
My algebra book slips
Down the trap door
To the dusty underside of the stage
Can’t clamber down in costume
Pete—not my Pete—Pete, the team captain
Who never noticed me in school
Retrieves it for me and smiles
Like a yellow lab waiting for me
To scratch his ears or pat his head
I don’t think anything of it
Just being a good Christian boy.
And then there is danger
As though the play I’m dreaming
Is real and we are escaping
Huge black ash bats.
Pete—the one I haven’t seen in twenty years—
Grabs my hand and pulls me to safety.
And still I think
He’s just being nice.
Then Pete—who in real life is
Happily married to the quiet girl
Who played French horn—
Kisses me.
Sweetly, innocently, entirely
The way only sixteen year olds
Of twenty years ago
Can.
I wake before he can
Punch my shoulder and say
See ya tomorrow, Mitchell.
And spoil the whole thing.