(un)titled retired dream

i always dreamt of hosting saturday night live the thrill of yelling live from new york it’s saturday night at the opening

i would do a funny monologue about what an honor it is to be hosting the show while the band smiles behind me and nods

the rapid changes of clothes, my bald head perfect for wigs as i play a plethora of characters to the howls of the studio audience

introducing the band and watching from behind the curtain, the final thank you at the end and hugging the cast after

but they don’t typically allow failed poets host, not when they can’t act and aren’t funny and no one knows who they are

so i retired that dream, besides, new york is terrible, and i would rather be curled up in bed with her watching, the real dream

but just once, it would be a thrill to look into that camera, and smile like an idiot as the words come tumbling out of my mouth

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