Man in the Movies
by Corbyn Berryman
Whitney Trail by Scott Maier
When he inhaled we sat big-eyed like fish.
Smoke crept out his one good red lip.
“A triumph or many deaths,” he said,
and exhaled.
He could never take any of it back—
the smoke, the way his lip curled when he said that.
He could never stand so still as we see him now,
an apparition of Quixote,
glum in our Technicolor,
blue smoke on his shoulder.
He said, “This particular life is what I fear most.”
In our seats we dreamt duplicate dreams.
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