Glenn Sheldon

Candle, Wind

My body never kept a secret.
My Elton John shoes were a clue
to relatives: he’s show business.

Mother set me up on blind dates
at fifteen, male bride child.
He’s, she’d whisper, made out of money.

The arsonist in me stirred.

Father said not to date a war veteran,
Peace is never won with a piece of ass.

Aunt Millie shrugged, you’re not
adopted, sorry, better luck next life.

I was no Rocket Man.

Salem was stranger than
all the nine planets and
the House of Seven Gables.

I’d escape to watch ships
leave for the stinking treasure of fish,
economy’s brothel.

Trust Me

Satan, get a makeover and
stop acting your age.

A suitcase isn’t an empire to steal.

Tourist shops don’t pay you
due royalties.

Stop hanging out at airport bars.

Travel inland.
See what sins Salem doesn’t know yet.

Or become another theme park.

Pity isn’t the biographer
it pretends to be.