in mongolia i had nightmares about close friends leaving me & woke to see the plastic radio with one station & no on & off switch in the middle of the night lying plugless across the small table by the bed in the hotel bayangol on may day, in ulan bator, the capitol. the friend said she knew it was hopelessly screwed up between us & drove off with her other best friends in a red car, a honda, i believe. in another dream there were secret police.
small autumn trees in realistic color are arranged around the train track. things that go round & round knock me out. in my hand are miniature keys that will click the front door shut. i am lifted from this by a whimsical player when the mood strikes. my substitute is some other action figure with mean plastic features.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Evelyn Posamentier is a writer living in California. Her work has appeared in Diagram and 2 River Review.