Dave Smith
Performing Fiction

I was asked to dine with a Turkish novelist,

a fine soft shell crab, a yellowfin tuna,

exquisite red wine, and he told me why

in Ankara rarely rain falls, people die

a lot, his cat punishes him for traveling.

I'm poor, I think I may live in Ankara

which I try to see with my eyes asquint,

watching him, translating thefts, like Robert Bly.

He has invented a wife with grim, sharp smile.

The audience he invents wants history,

but we read our fiction, he in Turk, me in me.

I am incoherent, sure, but perform well.

Silky blondes ask who we are. Money, we hiss.

Found In Volume , No. 05
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Dave Smith
About the Author

Dave Smith has published more than a dozen volumes of poetry, including Little Boats, Unsalvaged: Poems 1992–2004 and The Wick of Memory: New and Selected Poems, 1970–2000, which was chosen as the Dictionary of Literary Biography’s Book of the Year in Poetry.