It was some time before they found
the elixir of ice, the hat, the beard
the blocky shoes. I rattled
the single quarter
in my bucket you can imagine
how it would look from the doorway.
They all began to smile, to nod,
I've been been asked this question
twenty-three times since, the scent
of her lotion delicious, a lie, more
happy ending nonsense prepped
and ready like it might be infected.
Edited to add: A cento is a poem made up of lines from other poems. I made mine from lines
in the short stories from the Best American Short Stories 2012 editiion.
Comments