bill roberts



Neither One of Us Can Warm Up

Attempting to put some vitality
back in our love life
we foolishly go to a drive-in
theater at summer's end
the breeze stirring audibly
making my hearing aids zing
pulling leaves off nearby trees
that plaster the windshield, then
scamper off to a resting place.
I keep the car running because
she says her feet are cold -
mine too, but I won't admit it.
The feature - finally! - stars
Leonardo DiCaprio in a story
that's hard to follow, harder yet
to understand, but still a bargain.
unless you include the gasoline
necessary to conquer the shivers.
No, the movie isn't scary
we're just cold. Hell, we're old.
The average age here, not including
us, is somewhere either side of
fifteen, most of the audience
invisible, engaged in heavy
petting or performing live sex acts.
I'd like to get out and look in
a few windows, but they're too
steamed. So is my wife.
She was hoping for some action.
Instead, I get her popcorn -
forget the goddamned butter.

Bill Roberts has given up all hope of becoming a thespian, musician or opera singer, is concentrating on modern ballet (circa 1850's). His seminar on how to write a poem a day in 15 minutes has infected many Colorado poets eager to get published. He took his new dog for a consultation to cure her of peeing in the house; Princess Honey sat in his lap, peed there instead. Contact Bill at


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