In the dream youâre an off-duty cop
at a counter holding up a cruller
as the waitress pours your coffee.
Itâs late, the lights flicker, the whole
place is like a power plant, the way
it just keeps buzzing. Seems you two
are the only ones awake anywhere.
On the wall is a poster of a boy
gorging happily on a donut,
a jelly, looks like, from the stains
around his mouth. Waitress says:
Say, honey, why do you hold
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your cruller up that way?âWhat
way?âWith your pinky raised?âOh.
Jammed it. Breaking up a fight.
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She sashays back to the burner.
What sheâs going for, you think, is a big
fat tip. You say thanks, thanks, even
Â
before (too soon) sheâs back:
Top up? Then: Listen, honey, did
their vorpal swords go snicker-snack?
Â
âYeah, well, cut me pretty good,
Took a selfie. See? You show her.
Thereâs blood, all right.
Â
Want the last donut? Just
have to toss it. Itâs a jelly!âYou
like crullers, really, not jellies,
but she brings it and you
hold it a moment, pinky raised,
blue ring, red stone, nail ruddy
as a rosehip button, knuckle
a plush puff pastry of skin.
Bravo Maestro! La-di-da!
Â
Can I be your Lady La-Di
Ga-Ga?â Of course, youâll tip her
after all that crap about a fight
and her calling you Honey
and now this donutâplaying which game
is easier than explaining why
you eat with your pinky raised.
Itâs only in your dreams, and, besides,
that isnât why you came in here.
You came to live outside
your uniform awhileâsheâs hungry
for the same damned thing.