Apple doesn't like listing me as "Will Shakespeare (poetry blogger)"
to differentiate me from the other guy, although everybody else does.
They took my first book but now won't take new ones. (Go figure.)
Since Smashwords distributes my books to Apple anyway,
just go to my Smashwords author page and download EPUBs from there.
Smashwords provides samples of my books also.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Perfect Spiral

A football horror story—appropriate
During NFL contract negotiations.

The after-game party
    Honored the quarterback—
Her quarterback, she thought
    As he entered the room.
She watched him as he moved
    From one group to the next.
Her breath caught in her throat
    As his dark eyes met hers.
She licked her lips; he winked,
    Just as her playbook said:
If she received his pass,
    She’d post the winning score.
The crowd thinned, but she stayed.
    Again their eyes met, and
He slipped through a side door,
    Pausing to smile at her.
Another wink; he was gone.
    Almost hypnotically
She followed his signals;
    Their scrimmage had begun.
She had to have him now
    And could wait no longer.
He left the door unlocked;
    She glanced behind her and,
Certain no one saw her,
    She quickly shuffled through.

Splitting the defenders,
    She hit the open field.

The dimly-lit stairwell
    Spiraled gently downward
And she clearly heard him
    Call the play: “Over here.”
Her reason was blurred by
    Cheap bourbon, but his voice
Echoed full and rich and
    More intoxicating…
Her evening gown clawed at
    Her high heels, threatening
To pitch her headfirst down
    The shaft; she didn’t care.
He would call the plays if
    She just brought the pom-poms;
That was all that mattered.
    She reached the end of the
Stairs, her eyes adjusting
    To the dim fluorescents,
And she saw him standing
    Just a few steps away—
His bright eyes luminous,
    His smooth voice hypnotic,
Arousing, narcotic.
    “I knew you’d come to me”
He said; her skin tingled
    As he reached toward her.

Her goal was within reach;
    Time for the extra point!

She too reached out, stumbling
    To him, hoping for sparks.
Instead, she gasped as his
    Icy grasp pulled her close
In a deathly huddle.
    He sniggered as he cracked
A fanged smile. “Last down, babe”
    He cooed, one chilly hand
Cradling her trembling neck;
    She felt his fingertips
Against its pulsating
    Jugular seam. She just
Stared, unable to cheer
    Or scream or even breathe;
The game wasn’t over.
    He completed his pass
And she scored brilliantly…
    But overtime is hell.

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