Strangers

We meet for the first time in  unmade sheets
when half asleep he says
he dreams he is a seabird,
flying through the night.

—–

He steals in on thieves feet after midnight.
Sleep eludes me. I hear

the pause outside and ragged sigh

before reluctant key turns to lock.

The finality of the closed door.

In the dark he fumbles at the window

Perhaps to let out some of the sad and hostile air.

When day and obligations call me
he still sleeps
upright in the apricot armchair

poised gazing at the train tracks

tangled like the suit jacket discarded at his feet.

—–

Some things are inadequate;
trying to describe the way a passing train smells like a burnt out match
how your girlfriend drives barefoot
to feel the pedal under her crooked pinkie toe
how the small of a stranger’s back peeks out from between his jeans and his t-shirt
when he rides his Peugot down Bloor (goodbye)

—–

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s