He is hiding from his wife, smoking in the backyard. The widow next door has long black hair that haunts his dreams.
He remembers many years ago, before they were married, they were making love on the beach by the Glen Island Casino, and he said to Angie, “Don’t ever leave me,” and she whispered, “Never.” And now he wonders if there was a question mark after what she said.
Inside Angie is watching the news. And Donald Trump is still on the loose.
Suddenly he looks out at the deck and sees two cats snuggling up on the railing. One is Boots, their barn cat who’s been neutered. He creeps closer and sees the other is Butch, a tom that comes around occasionally and who they feed occasionally. The cats are making out, licking each other and caressing with their paws. Rolling around and balancing on the railing. Every once in a while the cats look up at him, and go back to their loving.
He lights another smoke and the cats spook and scatter. He wonders if he really saw what they were doing.
He tries to tell Angie about the cats but she’s absorbed by Judy Woodruff and Donald Trump. He pours himself some vodka and starts cooking. Chicken Vesuvio.
That night he dreams again of the widow. Her mouth warm and soft, their tongues about to meet ... and then Angie’s snoring wakes him with a start, like a train shunting through the darkness.
lives and writes in Mahopac, New York. He is the author of three books: text messages, the first volume of American Gogyōhka poetry (Mushroom Press); flowers to the torch, tanka prose (Keibooks, 2015); and when angels speak of love, a novella (Loose Moose Press, 2017). His prose and poems have been published in American Poetry Review, Atlas Poetica, Bright Stars, great weather for MEDIA, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Poetry Now, Rattle, Sandy River Review, Skylark, Still Crazy, Still Point Arts Quarterly, Skylark, and elsewhere.
Fiore is also a jazz pianist, having played in several venues in the greater New York City area including The Black Whale and LeRefuge in City Island.
