​One Night About 5


I am thinking about this adolescent 
crush I had on Roy Rogers, how I 
can still see him grinning, squint-eyed 
as Trigger reared, his hind legs 
golden in the sun, but I am 
distracted by the doorbell and find 
Brad Pitt standing at my steps under 
the yellow porch light. I notice 
right away that he’s wearing a leather 
bomber jacket and baseball cap, 
brim flat and cocked to the right.  
He offers a red padded box.  
“Pizza delivery,” he says, 
and begins unzipping. I’m beside myself, 
touching my hair to make sure its right 
and sucking my stomach in a little. 
“You ordered pepperoni, green olives 
and anchovies?” he asks as I shove 
the dog back inside. She smells 
the sizzle in the air, and I smile a “yes” 
while rifling my pockets for a little extra.  
I give him way more than he can handle, 
and he gives me pepper packets and spice.
Our fingers spark as they meet.  
“This is for you,” he says, 
and steps away from the door, 
which has now begun to glaze with fog.  
I try to think of a way to invite him in 
for some, but his Hummer rumbles 
in the driveway and some woman, 
taps red nails on the dash.  
My husband hollers, “Hey, 
is that the pizza  … ?”  
But I can barely hear him because Brad leans in 
and whispers, “That’s more than enough … ,” 
as he chucks me under the chin and winks.  
But the end of his sentence is lost
because the dog is jumping now, 
barking in that shrill 
glass-cracking way she has and I say, 
“No thank you,” I have plenty of cheese already.