You Dreaming About Me on a Dangerously Windy Morning

by John Dorroh

Last night you dreamed about me cleaning out the basement,
dispersing heart dust into the atmosphere, aggravating
my asthma, detritus settling in my morning coffee cup.
You said I shook it off and cooked chicken wings in the oven
with three different sauces. My next-door neighbor
with the 8-inch cock stole my blue ribbon without preparing
a damned thing. We sat down on rickety dining room chairs
on a linen-draped card table two feet into the street
and ate store-bought cinnamon rolls and swilled chocolate milk
from a dirty wax carton. There was weather moving in from the north,
never a good sign in the Midwest, and you told me that he said
that my hair looked real good that day. He stuck his head
in the mailbox and pulled up the plastic flag to let the postal
worker know there was a package ready for pick-up. I drove
to your apartment and we drank fancy cocktails until
we both passed out on the living room rug.