After we broke up, Donald met a reporter
he married in Madrid, had three kids. For years
I’d get Christmas cards, “Hope you had a great year
and were in many plays, Donald.” I did some plays,
won no Tony’s, had a good face. Remember
the Tulli gum girl in the late 70s? That’s me!
“A blast of hoocheekoo/ in every chew.”
That gig lasted almost five years. I almost married
Troy. Daddy, wheelchair-bound in the Friendly Waters
Retirement Community since mom died, freaked.
“You won’t marry that black guy. I’ll die first.”
I might’ve married him, but marriage
felt like a show that closed after a dozen performances.
The empty theatre, wickets shut. Sexually,
I like women better,
maybe. Some women. Men often rush,
like I’m a station they’re channel surfing through
on the way to see the Giants snuff the Packers.
Not Donald. Considerate, he probably
wearied of my good girl schtick, didn’t lay me
for our first five years. Heavy petting, yes. Acting
took me everywhere from L.A. to London,
kept us apart. Now I’m in, get this,
Ft. Wayne, Indiana, left overpriced New York.
I do local plays, play old grans. This week
I’m performing Nanny in The Effect of Gamma Rays.
Each night I drive back to my ranch house,
sing along with old songs, the Fifth Dimension
my favorite group—the dawning
of the Age of Aquarius. Lights out.