Her foot eventually signals its presence on
the edge of my chair
by means of one whispering tap upon
my ghostly rubies.
“I still believe in transient relationships,”
says the newly-arrived shade
“In fact, before he hung me by the neck
until dead from that wearisome tree, the
sheriff & I…”
Diana stops talking with
She now talks with
her foot. Her toes, especially the big one, tell
the torrid tale.
Her heel grinds home the punch line.
“The sheriff & you ~ what?”
Now her eyes quietly repeat
the confession of lewd debauchery
page after page after page
in about 7 zooming seconds.
Horrified I howl,
“No, not the sheriff!”
My fist slams down on the table, which
disintegrates into a pile of dust, there in
the broken-down hotel cafe.
Diana is standing now, chair discarded.
She steps forward.
Little puffs of dust arise.
“Poor boy. You’re upset over nothing.”
She’s still smiling. She can’t help it.
“Nothing?” I howl ~ still sitting.
“Nothing,” she sighs.
She steps closer closer ~ looms
over me like
The Statue of Liberty
come alive & opening her court-room robe.
My eyes go cross-eye-ed
and my soul becomes unglued
by the close proximity of the
living tabernacle of the sacred light!
(Copyright Clyde Collins 2012)