This miserable man prefaces his
song with, “Love isn’t real.” That’s when I let
myself zone out. When I come to, he says,
“Now for this song I need some audience
participation, so when I play this
note (he plays it), you sing like this (he sings).”
Now he’s playing the song, and I’m moving
my lips, pretending, but I’m not really
singing, I’m convinced that I will ruin
it, even in this sea of voices, for
it takes only one worm to spoil an
apple, but no, the apple’s already
poisoned, we’re in the garden, you’re reaching
for it, try as I might, I can’t stop you.
–
Thomas Hobohm lives in San Francisco, California, but grew up in Texas. They never learned how to drive. They have poetry published or forthcoming in beestung, just femme & dandy, and HAD.