the mirage

I read at this same
college
three times
in five
years

a great little
place
high
on the green rolling
hills

and before each
reading
and after
each
I’d drink much
whiskey
with this
professor

a little
fellow
with a red and
white
beard
and two fingers
missing
from his
left
hand.

after the third
reading
I said to
him, “this is
such a great
place, the
girls always stay
young.”

“yeah,” he said,
“but most of them
finally
reach the
same
conclusion.”

“as we have,” I
suggested.

the prof reached for
the bottle.

“soda?” he
asked.

“no,” I said, “
make mine
straight.”

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