Improv 2, Week 10

Kathy Fagan

Darling,

you slayed
in your starling
suit at midnight,

the only goldfish
in the castle.
How aqueous backyards

were back then,
how silver the
streets, like a

bevel of thermometer
still slick with
your tongue. You

bet you were
fluent in exhale.
You were just that

gone.

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You bloomed,
for the third year,
in your slick October

suit. Your teeth
purpled like a drunk’s
nose from the wine.

We were peacocks
then, or were we
more lions? No.

Lions travel in prides.
Bet you don’t
remember when

I spilled wine
on the stars. Never
did I tell a lie,

but this one is true.