Encounter

i.

We bustle out the cinema
in 1977,
a Richard Dreyfuss vision of
Ev’ryboy’s fanatic ascension 

then filling us, basilica
for John Williams’ faultless lesson,
coat pockets poor of smuggled Zotz,
Milk Duds, mother wit, spilled Sweet Tarts

ii.

Too late we reach this unreal stage:
Stir sweet potato, gluten-free, 
Lured to write a further page—
This setting fit for no marquee

I tidy up, set fire this sage,
But Janus-faced, and make no plea
Grieved where I’ll be smuggled to,
Whose pocket lost, what mother knew