|
Love and Benny Hill |
Love and Benny Hill
Night is when
you propose marriage.
Between the Benny Hill Show
and unbuttered popcorn,
you falter.
Your words cliché
across the semi-lit divan
like arpeggios from untuned strings.
Is it ever enough, you wonder,
to say I love you-
your tongue suddenly swollen
from too much salt
that it comes out a half-croak
muted by tv applause.
She continues to munch,
laugh obliquely at the bald man
running around the park
in heart-speckled underpants.
previously published in Iota 64 (Fall 2003)
copyright 2003
Arlene
Ang |
