Laura Linney
Laura Linney closes the door behind her.
She closes the door behind her and walks in.
She tells me she has a secret.
She tells me she has a secret and begins to whisper.
She whispers so low that I can’t understand her.
I can’t understand her, but I pretend that I do.
I pretend that I do by nodding my head and smiling.
She asks me why I’m smiling, but I do not know.
I do not know why I’m smiling.
Laura Linney takes me to the record shop.
She takes me to the record shop and heads
straight for the listening booth.
She heads straight for the listening booth
and stands there for hours, bobbing her head.
Bobbing her head, she looks over at me with
her headphones on and tries to talk.
She tries to talk, but she’s talking so loud.
Marlon Brando
I’m like you, a lot
except, no Black Rebel Motorcycle Club leather jacket
or bravura
to say this
it’s as if I’ve won something
Marlon Brando sitting
outside the kitchen
the arbutus
the amaranth
the bittersweet
the bluebell
the daisy
the dandelion
the forget-me-not
each in their own jar
becuz they’re so pretty
and Alex Chilton sings
Would you be an outlaw for my love?
Marlon Brando grabbing
that song from thin air
helping me to define time,
like smoke seeping through your nose
Marlon Brando’s toes curled
on the nightporch painted
in three different colors:
java in a jiffy, sheer peach, and pat on the black
Marlon Brando’s cigarette cradled
between two fingers casually
whispering for everything to
stand still and not start again
until the ashtray lets us go
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Andrew Terhune is originally from Memphis, Tennessee. He is the author of the chapbook Helen Mirren Picks Out My Clothes (the greying ghost press, 2010). He lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma with his wife and two daughters.