Tuesday, April 2, 2013

4243. I WAS AT THE JOLLY ROGER

I WAS AT THE
JOLLY ROGER
Sitting. Once around, and then sitting.
The chair was of cane, the rounded
back a solid. I moved little; leaning
back became quickly uncomfortable
and the reason anyway for relaxing as
such never was clear  -  alkaline in
my manner, and acid in my ear.
-
Through the windows, a curious reddish
light came in  -  something deep and serious,
as of church or funeral rites, the Autumnal
tint of a setting sun, or the parade-ground
stagger of mourning and taps. I didn't know.
My hands held a cup, warm to my touch.
-
A woman came in  -  one I've known for
some time  -  and sat nearby. A scarf had
settled around her ear, the wide bangle of
a hoop, dangling and catching. This small
scene, though curious and only perhaps
funny, defined the moment for us both.
What can you say in the presence
of an error or mistake?
-
Not surly, not anything really at all, it
hardly mattered and -   once our eyes
caught  -  we both laughed it off. Fifteen
seconds later it all was over. She went to
her small menu and I stayed to my cup.

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