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Sport 43: 2015
A roman cooking show
A roman cooking show
My son is, in the night, the spectacle of a filmmaker.
In the morning, he sits enthroned on my seat,
for it is plain his laptop gives him purchase of it.
And on the table, with the development of dough, flour, sugar, yeast,
still there is a mystery, yet to be released.
In the night, such a tangle of gazes and limbs—she
lying down on the sofa, his foot up in the air,
her face looking upwards, he falling
from her towards the ceiling.
I will make my dinner in silence, my son, so as not
to disrupt the friend or the sleeping,
thinking I will not give a reading.
This is not a new thing.
The ideal audience only dreams
the readings I am not giving in the waking world;
and they shall not err in their minds,
bathed, and glared at.