The Long Novel

He was mixing up the characters
In the long novel he was writing.
He forgot who they were
And why there were there.

A dead man showed up for dinner
In an Easter Bunny costume.
A door-to-door salesman
Was huddled inside a large tent

In the middle of a department store.
A troop of soldiers marched
Down Main Street at midnight
To get their toenails painted.

A nun came rushing out of an aluminum trailer
Somewhere in West Virginia
With pantyhose over her face
And two bank bags under her arms.

Not me though.
I’m still repairing the same watches
Over and over.
He hasn’t even gotten around

To cutting my hair.
It’s growing long as willow branches
In a small town he describes as
“Dirty and forgotten.”