fifi and me,
to go to paris once the book
is published.
and the readings have
been done. my hand
will be cramped
from signing
so many copies.
my voice hoarse from
the interviews.
the various appearances
across
town. after all the awards
are given out.
the nobel
and pulitizer.
the national book award
etc.
i'll need another shelf.
i'll need another house.
i'll have to change my number
because of the fans
and those pesky stalkers
wanting a piece of me.
i'll be more aloof and more selfish
than ever before.
i won't have time for the littles
anymore.
don't worry, though, i won't
forget you, there's always
a key beneath the mat,
but from now on, if you could,
please hop the fence,
and use the back door.
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