Month: May 2020

Monday Random: the times

~ Pleasant Street ~ 6 Comments
  • I took a loved one’s temperature with a candy thermometer. This is a first.
  • I still can’t buy a thermometer.
  • (Greedy bastards) I’m sorry, I never talk that way
  • usually.
  • But seriously, normal, everyday items were impossible to get for weeks and months, even life-altering items.
  • Not nice to empty the stores with no thought for your neighbors.
  • On the other hand–
  • I was able to grow a bit, and learn to appreciate my neighbors and also look out for them.

Continue reading “Monday Random: the times” →

Show-stopper

~ Pleasant Street ~ 4 Comments

Sunset and leaves

 

I had so much riding on this day
my mind in too much thought
each sip every step all my hopes
just to purchase another hour of life
the way it should be lived

It is a pendulous evening
heavy air at eight
the lines nearly erased now
between night and day
the horizon breaking out
with its glittery evening show

A slice of this sky I count on
my doubt and injuries wavering
I take one step, and then another
every hope winning out over the past
and its mercenary plans

Mondays: Small talk

~ Pleasant Street ~ 8 Comments

brief-encounter-fire
Come evening we sit in the front room–you with your chamomile and I have my crossword puzzle on my lap. I swear when I make a mistake in ink.

The phone rings across the room. I cough. You turn your head once, but you don’t get up. I claim that I can tell it is a telemarketer by the tone.

“Is there any beer?”
I continue working on 23 down, not answering.
“Is there any beer?”
“There is no beer.” I write in the answer.
“Pity.”

The clock strikes 8.
I put down the puzzle.
“Meet you there?”
“Hmm?”
“Well, it is Monday night.”
“So it is. Did you?”
“Yes, of course.”

I stand in the doorway in crimson.
I typically wear only black, but promised to always wear
his favourite color on Mondays.
“A new one. Lace?”
“Yes.”

After
we lie very still
he on his side and I on my back
smoking.
He makes a pretense of coughing.
“Your hair looks like satin in this light”

“And you look like the boy I met on the train.”
“Was that 1988?”
“You know it was.”
“Best day ever.”
Smoke rings at the ceiling speak of it.

I sit cross-legged while he brushes my hair. Every few strokes he leans forward and speaks directly into my ear, whispering
“I love Mondays.”

“Did you say you bought roses?”
“Red ones, two dozen”
“Where are they?”
“I saw you were home and ran in quickly. They must be in my car.”
I smile.
“Silly.”

I lie on my side and he on his back. I push hair off his forehead with a delicate gesture. He closes his eyes.

“Let’s lay here ’til Tuesday.”