The Floating Bridge: Prose Poems

Big Brother Loses His Virginity

B I G B R O T H E R L O S E S H I S V I R G I N I T Y He’s been showing signs of strain lately. His eyes are droopy. He drifts to sleep on the job. His doctor prescribes a week in the tropics. The first evening he dismisses his bodyguards and ventures off to a restaurant for lobster and saffron rice. He comments on the laugh of a woman at a nearby table and soon they are walking along the beach. The night air . . . The crescent moon . . . The white wine . . . A kind of intoxication he’s never known. He tells her he is the one they call Big Brother. The one who tracks your every move. She replies And I’m Napoleon’s Josephine. She puts her arms around him and bites playfully at his neck. There are the predictable footprints trailing into the dark. The tuxedo and gown draped over the rocks. Two naked bodies rolling in the sand. Isn’t this a pleasant irony . . . All these years he’s been spying on me. Now I’m the one lurking in the shadows. And he’s the one with his bare ass in the air. 6 ...