box of jars

ivy grimes
Dream Where Paul Simon Was My Boyfriend
I dreamed the same dream that you dreamed,
except I only fell halfway
into the cavern and was caught by a platform
which turned into a stage, which turned into
Paul Simon's apartment in the 80s.

How is Paul Simon like anyone
I've dated?  I can't parse that.
But after I'd heard his stories
and felt so small and happy in his company,
I knew he was at least my boyfriend.
So I asked if I could use his bathroom.
It had clear walls,
and from it I could see the TV
and this horrible movie that Paul
loved, a horror
of a werewolf with a top hat
prowling in heavy fog.  

Paul Simon had his own bathroom
across the hall, with walls of clouded glass,
because, you see, in some ways
he was hiding.

"Turn off the movie," I said,
"or I'll never leave this room,"
and I paced around inside,
and he paced around outside,
making faces like the monster in the movie.
"I'll call the police," I said
and grabbed the toilet paper roll
like it was a phone. Outside, Paul picked up
his actual phone and dialed the actual
police, and at the end of the dream,
I heard sirens.
For me.  When I didn't do anything.
I mean, really, I didn't do anything.