‘westward, ho’
he had joked.
one woman laughed, with a wry smile
and no teeth.
no memories before that remain.
six years
four women. five women if you count…
well, six.
he had told them his name was Kurt.
it was really Jack.
as they left him, inevitably, he said
“my name is Jack”.
he craved that reverberating slamming door
the way it vibrated his chest cavity.
that was always the best part.
word got around.
his name is Jack.
now he’s ever alone.
he plays Dylan on Sunset.
every day.
hoping for one of the seven women
to chance by.
© All Rights Reserved
Janette Papp
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