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

I admitted admiration

For both typeface and intent

And said more softly - sotto voce -

I knew too well what she meant

She just smiled

And in a while she went

For a time I forgot this ever took place

She left her bottle on the bookcase

So though I leave you little option

But to take me at my word

I assure you, dearest listener

That it happened as you've heard

A beer left on a bookshelf

At a bygone barbecue

By a girl from Kansas City

With my favourite tattoo

Oh why would I lie to you?

Oh why would I lie to you?

Oh why would I lie?