I’m walking home from the convenience store
thinking about an old girlfriend who shape-
shifted into nü gui one summer evening
when a stone garden cat gives me the eye
and the creeps. I’ve got three almond
Hershey bars in my pocket for the mad wife,
and a package of peanut M&M’s for me.
The street’s dark and cold and when the
wind picks up, I roll myself into a ball
and turn around to avoid the sting, facing
where I’ve been, the wind at my back
and remember how I dreamt about women again
the night before. I dream about women almost
every night next to her coarse quiet breathing.
And then I remember the scene in Fargo where Mike
Yanagita at the Radisson restaurant tries to put up
a good front for Marge Gunderson then falls to pieces,
and Marge delicately lowers her head to her diet Coke.
Alec Solomita lives in Somerville, Mass., USA. His fiction has appeared in, among other publications, The Adirondack Review, The Mississippi Review, Southwest Review and Ireland’s Southword Journal. Recently, he’s published poetry in Literary Orphans, Silver Birch Press, Turk’s Head Review, Algebra of Owls, Driftwood Press, and The Fourth River.