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Captain Hook’s Wife
By Beth Gordon
Vanished on a Caribbean cruise.
He told no one. Continued to plunder
the mini-bar and all-you-can-eat heavenly
hash. Folded the please take heroic measures paper
work into an origami piano to amuse
his humorless children. Slept,
guiltless, indigenous drums echoed, event-
planners attended to his adult
diapers, his preservative-laden dreams.
He stole cutlery. Mostly spoons. Polished
his shoes with the same umber paste his father
used before each magic show. Sawing
women in half every Wednesday night, hypnotizing
dignitaries who pirouetted like perfectly
perfect ballerinas trapped inside music
boxes. His own mother gone
missing since the family vacation to Paris, last seen
in line to view the Mona Lisa. Unalarmed by this
latest disappearing act, he packed stolen
souvenirs, flushed the piano, walked the exit
plank, a child in each hand: his practical Wendy,
(such a suffering optimist), his own in-bred Peter Pan.