Issue 145, Winter 1997
for Lisa Hull
Forked lightning sears and stabs and stabs again.
The thunderstorm threatening all afternoon,
lowering and dark, has now arrived.
Time to collect myself and get back home
right now. I'll miss the bus! It leaves at eight.
But no-it seems that first I have to wait.
My generous hostess needs to load me down
before I venture out into the night.
Embroidered apron, strapless evening gown,
two leotards, ski jacket shedding down,
jumpsuit, pantsuit, polyester blouse
and much more I have no desire to own
is piled into my arms and bag and lap.
Burdened so I barely can stand up,
I try to dodge the lightning flashes. Now
may not be quite the moment to escape,