Wendy Carlisle The 2River View, 7.1 (Fall 2002)

Dorothy, After

North, South, East, West who could ever keep them straight?
I, for one, barely remember to pick up the dry cleaning.
Why did I think it would be a good thing to click my heels?

Football and baseball, soccer and swimming—dates as hard to remember
as witches’ names. These days, I’m a whirlpool carpool, strong enough
to lift a house, spin it around with someone in it drinking Margaritas
and set it down in some other county, not a dry county,
a county with a nice cocktail lounge made of yellow bricks,
and a well-dressed businessman settled in the corner booth.

So what if the bartender is under five feet tall?
So what if the booth is behind red curtains?

I might go right up to that man—even up to his room
and never complain if he talked to me all night in aphorisms,
but only protest when it was over and he showed me how to get home.

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