In the red plush movie house
before the lights dim and the previews begin
On red scoop fold-up seat with red velvet padding for seat and back
A young man and a young woman sit side by side

B: This theater’s new to me. It’s fun. Antique!
A: Your perfume floats through dusty fabric’s stale
calm, ancient air.
B: Forgoing popcorn. Healthy. Healthy choice.
A: I’d gladly treat you. Popcorn. Soda. Ring.
B: A wedding ring?
A: Have any ring. Take any ceremony.
B: Artificial butter? With palm oil base?
A: Don’t mock my hands; don’t scorn my nerves. I’ll melt.
[And here he slides his right hand off her left forearm, and wipes it on his bluejean thigh]
B: You misinterpret me. I feel only fire
when you in body brush my side.
A: A like locust-swarming buzz has surrounded
this film since its release.
B: Do you think it’ll be my cup of tea?
A: No, nor am I sure it’s the movie for me.
B: Did we float in upon the gen’ral thrall?
A: I don’t think that was the every all
of our decision-making.
B: No, we like the actress.
A: We agree on her excellence.
B: She who so completely fills and animates each character, each design, each consideration.
A: And the director held us mesmerized in our separate lives two years ago when we only knew one another as an unanswered longing, a call waiting for a response, a yodel seeking its echo.
B: Right. Why was that? What common point does she within us prick?
A: The vague shapes rising up, becoming creatures, giant beetles wiggling their feelers, clacking their needle feet, organizing their shelled backs into row after trembling row.
B: A hoard of lonely domed monsters crashing down into the pleasant sleepy valley where dwelt the happiest and most benign of weavers, singers, and magic workers.
A: Why? The pointless, thrashing, panicked violators got no joy from that attack; and the valley lost much joy.
B: No sense. Senseless.
A: If only we could put on the Seatbelt of Necessity and so defend ourselves and our world from these cruel outpourings of soulless fate.
B: Buckle me up.

AMW/BW