by Floyce Alexander

Screams rattle the amphitheater
Of lost dreams. A horror film
In progress nears its end.
I’m restless; aren’t you,
Without your bouffant hairdo?
Swarms of bumblebees
Fill the high grass by the ocean.
I was a mere boy with a scythe
Cutting into their playground
By a river irrigating the valley,
A place to grow and die early
If you surrendered your future,
Married and raised children.

Abandoning my picturesque valley.
I left town. Then many towns.
Cities too. Then hummingbirds
Drank the cup of my long life.
They were the brilliant,
The beautiful I needed.
Did they need me? How did
I know? We were there early.
The crowd was just entering.
I thought I knew a good movie
By its director. The Shining, say,
Was nothing like the novel.
We always preferred the dark.
We stayed too late to sleep.

So we made what’s called love.
Living was all there was to do.