The girl next door had something to teach me
about what to air: On the linesome
body’s business gets told
then recounted; it’s best to thread a tale
for the neighbors, an orchestration
of sorts. But I am far from modest
in my telling of lies. There are three references
I put forward: each a past lover
who liked a different kind of underling
to his genius. You wouldn’t know it
from the delicates I rollin
to the yard. It’s all the same peek-a-boo lace
and stunted imagination.
Of course, all of this is scanty
truth. Who hangs anything out to dry
anymore, when invention
has halved the work?
By Rosa Alcalá
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