by Anthony Mariani

Roberta had a dream that you had died

A negligent conductor of a train

Decided to jump the tracks by your house

And –– boom! –– into your living room she went

You had just gotten back from a long jog

Around the river that you love so damn much

The good news is that you don’t feel a thing

One minute, you’re there, resting your thin feet

And the next, you’re beneath eight tons of steel

One of the spookiest parts of the dream,

She said, is the TV that you just bought

And that you’ve tuned so typically to HGTV

Escapes the blind wrath of the wayward L

Imagine: Carter and Genevieve ignoring you

Anthony Mariani has just completed his first work of long-form fiction, The Bloomfield Diaries, a hybrid novel excerpted in Smallwork, Ben Marcus’ literary magazine, and in No Record Press’ annual Red Anthology. Anthony’s fiction and poetry have also appeared in Calamari Press’ literary magazine,Sleepingfish, and in The Foliate Oak. A Columbia University grad (J’98), Anthony makes his living as a journalist, whose arts criticism and reportage have been published in The Village Voice, The Oxford American, and Paste magazine, among other publications. He lives with his lovely wife Dana in Fort Worth, where he is associate editor of Fort Worth Weekly, one of the last remaining independently owned alt-weeklies in the country.