After David Lehman’s “Lost Weekend”
He was the all-American man in the novel she was writing
On the plane. He proved that a character can come to life.
When she didn’t touch her Scotch, he drank it instead and fell asleep
On her lap. He woke up hung-over and looked into her eyes
And realized he’d become her lover. The fourth so far
In a romantic plot. But that was all right. It was a long flight.
And he still felt as if he had won a prize. Do you recognize the date?
She asked and smiled. It was his birthday! She decided
He liked a good surprise. Later when they arrived in New York
(Or was Miami or LA?) she served him cake in a négligée
And opened like a rosebud in the sun. She knew his every need.
You’re my protagonist, she sighed, resting on his chest, listening to the clock
Tick of his heart. You’re my Honey, my Buster, my Don Juan.
And he was, once he got into the swing of it. She made sure
Of that. He was all in. The titles of her books: Who Can She Trust?,
A Season of Greed, Confessions of a Lass, and Righteous Lust.