First, I had forgotten
I was shouting over
the sun shower. Forgotten
that all the while I had
donated my heat to
an impregnable argument.
The stripper loved the way
I peeled an orange.
I’m sure that upset some.
But the downpour went unnoticed over the mimosas.
A relatively exotic weather pattern.
Soon, we knew, life would return
to its pre-shoplifting days.
And we would return to work
astray, and knee-capped in torrentials.
Words play out like catnip from a damp mouse.
A telephone rings and someone says the soggiest
goodbye. There is a dictionary and a word
in that dictionary, but the speaker
postpones its tintinnabulations.
Simply refuses to make a sound.
Another ampersand and observers
Like buoys on the shore, after paddling,
dry like canoes tipped toward the hot sun.
Magnificent droplets bead
everywhere in the background
of an argument being quietly
lightly repaired.
No comments:
Post a Comment