Bruce Remembers Leather

and a troll he caught
sleeping on the bus between Essex
and Reading -- a dwarf
that stowed away as Maiden
cased the backstage, looking for water.

This morning there is water all around --
the surface of a swimming pool scrapes his butt
through the hole of an innertube
and he raises a Mackeson to me
as I look down from my apartment.

This is not unusual -- seeing Bruce Dickinson
floating toward the deep end, drinking beer
before I have finished my coffee. I'm used to it.

But I wish for new stories. Always
it's the same ritual:
I wave, Bruce salutes.
I raise my cup, he lifts his bottle.
I say "good morning," he calls me down.
I ask how he is, he tells me about the dwarf.

Formerly a radio disc jockey in upstate NY, Scott received a PhD in English from the Center for Writers in Hattiesburg, MS, in 2010. Currently, he is living and teaching in South Florida.

TPQ3