The Last Thing I Wrote

I have this nightmare that if I disband the Council, they’ll be secretly relieved, and then continue to meet--without me--at Pete Gleeson’s place, who has a pool. (A swimming pool trumps many things, maybe all things, especially in this brimstony climate.) Got paid eighteen dollars by poetry magazine “Foxmoaxa” out of Buffalo, NY for a poem I wrote about Cherl leaving. Cashed check at the pizzeria where I know the guy. Free money; I was going to write the poem anyway, and Cherl was gone no matter what.