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