I live, write, and teach in Appleton, Wisconsin—about 35 miles south of the "frozen tundra." I am fascinated by good paper, poetry and the way ink moves forward on the blank page and words trail behind like a snake shedding its skin. Winner of the 2003 Main Street Rag Chapbook contest, I am the author of the collection A Theory of Lipstick (Main Street Rag: 2013) and seven chapbooks of poetry. Widely published (poetry, reviews and interviews), I was awarded a Pushcart Prize in 2011. www.karlahuston.com
One Night About 5
I am thinking about this adolescent
crush I had on Roy Rogers, how I
can still see him grinning, squint-eyed
as Trigger reared, his hind legs
golden in the sun, but I am
distracted by the doorbell and find
Brad Pitt standing at my steps under
the yellow porch light. I notice
right away that he’s wearing a leather
bomber jacket and baseball cap,
brim flat and cocked to the right.
He offers a red padded box.
“Pizza delivery,” he says,
and begins unzipping. I’m beside myself,
touching my hair to make sure its right
and sucking my stomach in a little.
“You ordered pepperoni, green olives
and anchovies?” he asks as I shove
the dog back inside. She smells
the sizzle in the air, and I smile a “yes”
while rifling my pockets for a little extra.
I give him way more than he can handle,
and he gives me pepper packets and spice.
Our fingers spark as they meet.
“This is for you,” he says,
and steps away from the door,
which has now begun to glaze with fog.
I try to think of a way to invite him in
for some, but his Hummer rumbles
in the driveway and some woman,
taps red nails on the dash.
My husband hollers, “Hey,
is that the pizza … ?”
But I can barely hear him because Brad leans in
and whispers, “That’s more than enough … ,”
as he chucks me under the chin and winks.
But the end of his sentence is lost
because the dog is jumping now,
barking in that shrill
glass-cracking way she has and I say,
“No thank you,” I have plenty of cheese already.
©2016 Karla Huston