By Jim Johnstone
then back away from the field. If I move
back far enough, everyone in the front row
will be still. Be still
you’re witnessing my first time.
A ballooning ballroom expanding
until the beat drops, a letdown
letting you down gently
before the DJ jumps up, afraid to play
something that could offend.
I write: the tall grass is a third wish
wasted and pray
for more wishes as the grasslands end.