pizza with emily dickinson

there was a light knock on the door
as i settled into my recliner
watching a rerun of the twilight zone.
I was eating an anchovy pizza,
just delivered, still hot
in the box, the steam rising into my eyes.
i looked through the peephole,
squinting one eye.
it was my neighbor from upstairs,
emily. yeah. that emily,
the poet. ms. dickinson herself.
she had her spiral notebook in hand
and a pencil. she loved writing in pencil.
she had her usual violets pinned
to her white dress
and her hair up in a bun.
what, i said. what do you want?
i'm having dinner.
i'm stuck she said, in her high pitched
voice, i need some help with this poem
i'm working on.
geez marie, okay,okay, let me get
some pants on. I put the dog
in the other room, then let her in.
she sat down on the sofa
as i lowered the tv.
let me hear what you have so far.,
I said. sitting back down
is this a new poem, or an old
one? you have a tendency to
over work the old ones.
oh no, no, she said. it's a new one.
well, read it to me, pizza?
I held the box out to her, opening
the lid to show her the slices.
sorry, i'm clean out of carrots and lettuce.
no, she said, i don't eat meat, or
cheese, or anything delivered in a box.
suit yourself, I said. more for me.
okay, go. read.
she started reading her new poem, slowly, as
she liked to do, never looking up,
her fingers tapping her lips nervously,
her high laced boots clicking against
one another.
"because i could not stop for lunch,
i had a cup of tea.
i wore a hat outside today
because of the buzzing bees."
that's all i have so far
she said shyly, shrugging her narrow 

shoulders, and looking at her poem.
i took a sip of my beer and another bite
of pizza. it stinks I said. what kind of
a lame poem is that? it makes me sleepy.
i want to take a nap after hearing a poem
like that. what are the bees all about.
at this point she started to cry,
dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief
she pulled out of her high frilly collar.
come on em, you can do better than that.
i couldn't stop for lunch, what's
that? how about death, i couldn't stop for
death, now that's a poem. death, broken
hearts, love gone awry. that's
the kind of stuff people want to hear.
hmmm, she said. still sobbing a little.
maybe you're right. i'll keep trying.
good i told her. death, immortality,
stuff like that. be puzzling and
convoluted, critics like that too. and
the rhyming, you're hung up on that end
line rhyme, who are you, dr. seuss? tupac?
mix it up a little with some free verse.
just saying. i'm not giving up on you.
you have some talent, you're just a little
uptight. I looked at my watch. look, i
don't mean to run you out, but i'm missing
my show here. okay, she said. okay. i'll
work on it. is it okay if i bring it over
later to show you. sure, i told her, sure.
thanks, she said meekly, you're such
a good friend. but hey, i said, if i
have a red sock wrapped around
the doorknob, you know not to knock,
right? yes. she said. i do know that kind sir.
i will not knock if there is a sock.
whatever em. whatever.