He will tell me later the story of the woman he has been alluding to all day
Ian Williams. Personals. Calgary, Alberta. Freehand Books. 2012.
1because it takes three hours and gives him the blues bad
2so not now, not now, later, he promises, then falls asleep
3on my couch, shrugging his upper lip like a horse.
4Open parenthesis. She wore black dresses. They drank a lot
6Spoke another language, French most likely. Worked
7for a firm. Had a way of playing with her earlobes
8when searching for words. They did not touch. He held
9open doors. She had a son. Divorced, divorcing the father.
10The father was still involved. So you understand, she said.
11Right right right, he said. They talked about their money.
13son’s teacher. They talked about maybe. There was a moment
14in his car when nothing happened. A moment when he thought.
16She pulled her earlobe. Closed parenthesis. He doesn’t know
17where he is or what time it is when he wakes up and he has a long
18drive and a trustees’ meeting in the morning so not now, not now,
19next time, he promises, and gets his harmonica and goes.
RPO poem Editors:
Poem used with permission of the author.