Imaginary Interview With Elizabeth Bishop

for Denis O’Donovan

Elizabeth Bishop sits with friends at a corner table
in Gene and Georgetti’s
in Chicago. Her hair
brushed back
like someone
cruising down
Lake Shore Drive
in a red convertible Mustang.
The man opposite her
is an intellectual
who criticized
Simone de Beauvoir
in the back
of TV Guide Magazine.
They nod, these
corner friends.
I go over and ask Liz
about “The Map,” because
even after a friend with a chrome degree uncurled it,
I still don’t get it—
Who cares about Norway?
Where’s Chicago?
The intellectual friend,
ignoring me,
says something about
the red cow and the fire.
I say Sorry, Liz
your poems bore me,
they give me
the Big So What
in neon lights.
That’s the problem
with kids like you,
she says, putting
a fork of clam sauce
into her mouth. You want
fireworks in your underwear, she says, you want candy.