Once a chaste and faithful wife, I am now a
wicked and wayward woman. For I’ve fallen
into mad, wild, crazy love with Billy Collins.
Oh Lord, how Billy can make me laugh. His
words so droll, so wink-ish, so whimsical and
straight-faced, so beguiling I’ll sneak off for a
tryst down behind the garden shed, up in the
sun-warm attic, or in his very studio-lair where
he can have his way with me. And I don’t care
about my reputation. Oh, the times we’ve had
together…that twirling dance in the morning
sun, the night the tricycle went round and
round when Billy couldn’t sleep, the candle hat,
the sad little winged thing perched on a road
sign, the fish looking at Billy’s feet, and
then Victoria’s Secret! Mercy! How Billy makes
me lust with all his tongue-in-my-cheek talk.
I want to lick Billy’s every word like an ice
cream cone until each word becomes mine,
mine, mine…along with Billy Collins. What an
unrepentant, covetous wench I am. I admit it!
Every night I possibly can, not wearing so much
as a guilty conscience, I tumble into bed hardly
able to wait to lay my hands on Billy Collins.
And there he is, where he’s ever waiting for me:
sitting on top of my bedside stand. Our best
nights, our most delicious nights, are the nights
my sweet husband takes Poet Laureate
Billy Collins right out of my hands
and reads him aloud to me.
For my husband who understands the nature of my passion, but is still just a little jealous of Billy Collins
