We all die in the third act. It’s a truth I carry
around like a hot coal waiting for the right barbecue
party to flip it on the family, show my blistered
palms, marvel at the icy looks of surprise.
Maybe after dessert, during the evening news?
Before or after prayers? Maybe I should wait
until morning, make sure there’s gas in the car,
make that final deposit, check the box for Go paperless!
Still slightly singed, I remind myself to make a list
of my passwords—access is everything—
hide the old embarrassing journals, poems about world
peace, about mooning after that short, blonde ballet dancer
in college, that one suicide poem that needed
revision. Re-centered, hydrated, I remember to order
online, my daughter’s left-handed first base glove.
I leave my extra set of keys in the candy dish,
suck a popsicle to cool my chest, let the dog
out, coax the cat back in.
Ed McManis most recent chapbook is “The Zombie Family Takes a Selfie”. (Bottlecap Press) He, along with his wife, Linda, have published esteemed author Joanne Greenberg’s memoir, On the Run. Little known trivia fact: he holds the outdoor free-throw record at Camp Santa Maria: 67 in a row.
