by Andrew Terhune

Ellen, I will arrange my arms
so that they are always around you.

Ellen Page tells me
Ellen Page tells me that I am
a well-respected man.

Ellen Page puts her hands around
her belly, draws me in. Closer,
I put my hands on her belly:

Come here orphan, I mean often?
What is this tender strangeness?

In Janesville, Wisconsin
I am dressed like a clown.

Ellen Page lets me
Ellen Page lets me know that
I used to be nicer.

We walk.

Ellen Page locks her fingers
within my fingers until
nothing makes sense.

Ellen Page puts her hands on
my belly to feel the kick.

My belly now rounded out
with an orange and white-striped
sweater, or was it green?

I don’t remember.

Ellen, you say you are beautiful,
but I shouldn’t be looking.