Faithfully, I Remained
I should have let
the floodgates open,
as you spoke
such drivel and drool.
The only fool left standing
(as you said you loved),
was me.
I cleared my throat
to expectorate,
recalling our lunch in Spain.
The Costa del Sol
as I’d lost my wallet
you explained,
she is a Yank
and does not fully comprehend.
Always,
the British slight.
Yet,
faithfully
I remained.
***
I sat alone drinking a Margaux, Imperiale
by Joan Pond
I sat alone drinking a Margaux, Imperiale.
At three thousand a bottle,
it was described as a classic red
with vanilla-scented nose.
Having a ripe black fruit,
it held a firm and structured finish.
Along with Toll House Cookies
I emptied the bottle,
noting the ruby-red colour staining the sink.
A good wine to drink with dessert,
especially while listening to Beethoven”s Seventh.
The Allegretto was so memorable,
I wondered;
was it the wine or the cookies?
***
And So I Called A Taxidermist
by Joan Pond
A sudden snow squall as we headed to Maine.
Another weekend of Paul asking,
when are you moving in?
Much silence as snow fell.
Pines appeared
as Crest-coated toothbrushes.
I laughed at the ceiling fan,
circulating mephitic air;
snow shoes on the wall,
and all the things that made
this place extemely, him.
There was no room for me
unless I was mounted to a wall.
And so I called a taxidermist,
asking,
what I should do.
***
Penance
by Joan Pond
I don”t miss your touch,
your house,
or the mouse you caught in your trap.
It was upside down and dead.
A grey puff of head under a wire.
You complained it ate the cheese,
and you”d have to re-load the trap.
It”s tiny pink hands,
as an aborted child holding on
for dear life.
You simply shucked it out the door.
I left shortly, thereafter,
still mobile.
Feeling somewhat trapped,
in this purgatory or hell.
Why couldn”t I tell you,
I felt just like that mouse?
***
Where To Go
by Joan Pond
How many corporate Rest Rooms must I endure?
Questioning myself;
examining a face in the mirror.
Looking forlorn and asking,
what am I doing here?
I washed my hands,
not wanting to return to my cubby hole.
Surrounded by white tile,
I realized
the devil hadn”t taken my soul.
I”d given it willingly to these companies.
Mutatis, mutandis,
going to and fro.
It was a mutual agreement,
yet I”m forlorn;
not knowing where to go.
***