O Cap'n, My Cap'n

Captain Kirk was a rockstar tonight.

On other nights I knew him, well,

at least knew him well enough to know

that he’s an average looking guy from Hawaii who dates

the gorgeous friend of a gorgeous friend.

To his face, he is always just Kirk,

with the crew cut and the cover band

and the girlfriend with kind eyes, at which

I can never manage to arrive in the compulsory meanderings

of my renegade glances, moving upwards from her hips.

But the vindictive comedian that I play

in one of my meaner public lives

can’t resist accentuating the arc of his dumb luck

by painting him with clownish nicknames, and I dub him

“The Cap,” or “Cap’n K” or “El Capitán”.

Tonight though, he’s someone else entirely.

I always thought he was a nice guy

but it turns out his band is actually pretty tight,

and so I pay him tribute with sardonically overwrought fist-pumps and yelps,

I guess to force laughter from whatever girl I’m with.

I would like to say that this

is one of the more difficult parts

that I play in my life of petty method acting,

but it’s as effortless as a devil’s handshake, if I’m being Honest.

And that’s the one role that

I’m still truly scared to face.