Fiction

Written down here, gentle reader
It seems too good to be true
But there’s a girl in Kansas City
With my favourite tattoo
Oh why would I lie to you?
This was in another century
Somewhere near the summer’s end
The fahrenheit was frightening
I was awake the whole weekend
Invited to a barbecue
I found refuge in the kitchen
Discussing post-war US literature
With a girl whose upper arm read “fiction”
Like it might have been typewritten
I asked her its significance
She said she sometimes took reminding
What she wanted to be doing
Whether reading it or writing.

-The Lucksmiths