my fan – by J.C. Mari

 

every so often
she asks to see what I’ve written
and i’ll send her one or two.

i don’t try to imagine
her face while she reads them and
i don’t ask if she reads them naked in bed

or maybe in her kitchen
tank top and underwear.

i do imagine she probably takes
puffs out of a joint
and drinks beer while she reads.

Maybe she is in bed and the lights are dim
just enough to read.

every so often
she asks to see what’ i’ve written
and the same thing always comes to mind
like a recurring infection
or a stubborn gnat:

she told me once she wants
for someone to read aloud to her
from “Tropic of Capricorn” while she lays in bed
she

wants to fall sleep that way.

I don’t try to imagine
if she’s naked in bed or
maybe in her kitchen smoking a joint
wearing tank top and underwear
when her lover comes home.

Mind busy with its beartraps
i give her what she wants from me:

typed-on paper.

 

 

 

 

J.C. Mari is a Floridian who ekes out his living in occupations unrelated to poesy or the arts. He is occasionally published here and there. Like everyone else he does his best to achieve/maintain some degree of functionality.

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