When the reply finally came
it was by book.
She wrote she was an independent-minded woman
who liked greasy spoons
maple water, vintage watches
and here I was, laughing at football
a curiosity and she was curious
with had no intention of aging.
Upon the balcony my mother asked
What are you reading?
I snuck out for a smoke.
There in the courtyard
next to the very same church
as the wind kicked in and the boxwoods leaned
I saw a man made of ink. I moved toward him
and became Marilyn Monroe.
On the balcony, my mother watched with alarm
and a werewolf dressed as a king
beside her began jumping for joy.
The man of ink turned and shot me.
As I lay on the cobblestones bleeding
I woke up drooling at 10 PM.
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