I love my name. Simple, just the way I like things. Same backward
and forward. Looks nice printed on a gas station uniform or a legal
pad. Never showed up either place, but a guy can have his fantasies,
right? My Dad was Robert, and I’m Bob, and if I ever have a son,
I’ll call him Bobby. But I’m shooting blanks, so that won’t happen
anytime soon. I bet this Bobby would be on the high school diving team.
I can hear them over the loudspeaker: Bobby Wilcox, Jr. will now attempt
a reverse 2½ somersault in the pike position, Level of Difficulty 7.5. Strange
how I can see that all so clearly, probably because my parents named me Bob.
writing has been published in decomP magazinE, Moon City Review, Rattle, SLANT, Pennsylvania English, and others. She holds an MFA in poetry from the Vermont College of Fine Arts’ creative writing program and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Marcia lives in South Orange, New Jersey.
www.marcialebeau.com