“It’s been a year,” my counselor says. “It’s time
to meet some people again. Why don’t you try
going to Diversity Weekend in Eureka Springs?
You could have some fun, and a change of scene
might help.” And so I book a room at the motel
where one of the events is set and think, No telling
what mischief might be managed at meals, pool parties,
and dance bars where the action never starts
’til past my normal bedtime. Arrived and game,
I make the rounds again, but come up as lame
as usual, end up alone in Basin Park,
backbeat of drums soundtracking the visual—cars
crawling past on Spring Street. Out of patience, out of luck.
Not quite the way it was scripted, but still I’m fucked.
T. Allen Culpepper