He loves movies.
So much so that, on one occasion,
he gets engrossed with the movie,
believing that the fire--
the movie burns down, and the fire
starts in the behind the screen--
and he believes that's a part of the movie.
So the people rescue him.
"Poem number 11.
When Lloyd Fetrow's picture show burned flat,
I was the last to leave, uncertain where
John Wayne ended and the fine, bright flames began.
And folks are not always gentle, ripping me
as they did from my seat by popcorn.
Even today, under the arms, I can
feel their hand-holds, bruises, thickest thumbs.
And with each snowfall, the wasted popcorn
returns, white flack upblown, arrested, exploding the eyes.
Later, they said they had to.
That one second more, and the tip of my nose
would have gone ablaze.
Because they said that even a mongrel has feelings,
and that no respectable, God-fearing Nebraska
town, without a fight, lets its loony die."