the play

you go to your
son's play
at the elementary
school. Ginsberg's
School for the Arts.
he's got a starring
role as a pumpkin.
a talking pumpkin
mind you in a patch
full of other
talking pumpkins.
it's a long
night and at
the intermission
when the band
strikes up there
is wild clapping
and cheering,
parents yelling out
the names of their
children, go zach,
go buffy, go tyronee.
you rock abdul mohammed.
you go to the bathroom
and negotiate
with the miniature
stalls,
you get a drink
of water at the tiny
fountain. a small
arc of water
softly falls onto
your dry lips.
you buy some cookies
at the bake sale.
two bags for three
dollars, four bags
for five, but you
can't bring them
back into the auditorium.
so you eat some
and throw the rest
away in a metal
trashcan. a woman frowns
at you and shakes
her head. you have
no idea who she is,
but you immediately
don't like her. she
points at your zipper
which is down. you smile,
and shrug,
but she shakes her
head some more.
you see the lights
dimming in the auditorium.
it's time for
the second half.
your son is a wonderful
pumpkin, but you
feel like you need
a drink.