Communicator, cooker, drinker, poet. Grew up in a mining town, wore a hard hat.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

i was hoping you might

she worries about his punctuation
use of question marks escalating
adverbs are so tiresome but he's
got something and it's not news
patience perhaps or that boyish
smile an ability that he developed
with the guidance of a good father
to listen and care softly with a quiet
calm about him biting his lip and
sniffling stubbled chin up and capable
of much more than she suspected
from her solitary corner she wishes
that she’d thought more carefully about
the bag the conversation the outcome
wishes that she had special combinations
of moments and time to offer him
as tokens of her good will but she
doesn’t instead some vague sense
of promise inhabits her stomach sick
with anger and uncertainty visited
by the look of those boyish eyes
and that all-forgiving smile thick with
intricate grey webs of thought and
bright simple blossoms as though in film
bundled, finally, with the brown string satisfaction
that it’s enough, that it’s always been enough…