Proscenium Arch

American Poetry Review, The, Jul/Aug 2002 by Ruefle, Mary

I lived like a god.

My thin back walking out the door, my heart of mayonnaise.

I put halos on heads

and then they cursed me.

Even the posh deserve names.

And the people who went out at sunset waiting for fear to find themI left obscenities on the benches.

I made all manner of transportation miss its destination and the signs instructing people not to cry-I hung them.

I passed out fliersten percent off if you walk ten miles.

Finally I tried to kiss someone and they said I was drunk.

And now the real gods have come so I can sit down, so I can shut up early and later act dead.