Plan B Poem by Thomas Kellar


you and me

terminal union

cancer full-blown

no chance of re-mission

we work hard

not to notice


back porch

I sip cheap red

strum a cracked and buzzing

harmony six string

tell the stars

to go fuck themselves


on your back

in bed

Cosmo opened

across your chest

you whisper

something to someone

on the phone


in the kitchen

under the ironing board

the 3 year old sits

blissfully occupying himself

with a green, rubber,

T-Rex toy

welcome to plan B

much time ago

I was to be a writer

of words and music

you were going to travel the world

a single woman

scoring brown-skinned boys

taking in the sights

but as in figure 8 racing

we “discovered” each other

an “accident waiting to happen”

made ourselves giant targets

easy marks

lowest form of idiot

the “little-man”

has no such regrets

no fear for what’s future

he’s like a sponge

soaking up the moment

laughing to himself

as he and imaginary friend

slip past the angel

sent to guard Eden’s gate

Copyright © 1998 by THOM KELLAR, All rights reserved