frequent
flickering
by Hezekiah
Allen Taylor
in front of us, a Jedi
maybe 10-years-old
his plastic lightsaber
falling back loosely
into its covering
much to his annoyance
behind us
a mother hording seats
spreading out
pieces of her purse
like each chair
was a stubborn child
wanting a toy distraction
the audience applauds
without reserve
responds without
a fourth wall
it is more than movie
to some of them
more like what they dream
their lives could be
the hero
the princess
the dark lord
but afterward
they go home in the minivan
watch the season finale of CSI
put the kids to bed
and remember
that life
isn't made of
passion and anger
battles and love affairs
instead it is this mediocre
image, this flash of everyday
it is William Carlos Williams' peaches
straight from the freezer
and the bills are paid
and the kids snore lightly
and the breeze brings rain
and the blankets smell of Tide
and there is a good pot of coffee on
Francine's
Version -- Hezekiah's Version
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