written by Ricky De Guzman
Most of my nights became dried salmon and cream cheese on a bagel,
a stage of music stuffed into a manila envelope—
White smoke and choir breaks in a car ride home
in-between my lap is a book
I write my name in, spilled soda
that turned into an office joke about old fashioned plays.
Even in The Strand, happenstance found me
a one-act play,
your head rested on my shoulder
and made a poem.
The absence of a prompter
down the line I forgot,
that any real prize fighter
worth their salt is only so
when they showed up and acted out in the flesh.
Born in Manila, raised in Los Angeles, Ricky De Guzman is a graduate student at San Francisco State University. He makes paper airplanes and hopes they can float upside down.