Larry’s Hamlet; I mouth Ophelia.
He stops, makes me check our hamper for spiders,
memorabilia, fruit, wine. How asinine. Now his monologue—
the boat rocks and he goes on
pulling those oars. Fiddle-dee-dee…
Peering over, I write Vivian Mary on water.
The lake feels bottomless from here.
If we tipped, we’d disappear, like stones.
I take an apple and consider it. —Ow! My tooth!
Something small falls in. Not to be outdone,
Larry yells about a splinter in his palm.
The pain’s woken us both.
What a pair we are. Look how far
the shore. And now we must row.
—from Hollywood Starlet