Issue 58, Summer 1974
After midnight, lying in bed thinking of you,
I heard a squeal, and let the cigarette fall
From my fingers like a petal, as I watched the window open
Letting in thoughts I hadn’t even known I had:
A phalanx of possums, the moon, an old classics teacher
Who was hooting out “Dixie” across a milk container.
I sat up, took a swipe at the crumpled container.
And knocked it out of his hands, much the way you
Used to knock my head off (you were my favorite teacher!).
Was it yesterday, or a year ago last fall?
Anyway, gesturing at everything I had,
I made it plain to the crew that my house was open.