Poetry -- who uncannily looks like a friend of mine who lives in San Jose, comes in.
"You're writing terrible poetry." says Poetry.
"Yes, I do." I say.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" asks Poetry.
"I don't know." I lie.
"Hmmm." she says. Poetry looks around the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"
"That would be very nice."
"Ok." says Poetry. She gets up and starts making us coffee. "You should cheer up."
"I don't feel depressed."
Poetry looks at me with her beautiful hazel eyes. "You should cheer up."
We have coffee and she tells me about how other poets were cheered up, throughout history. I'd like to make love to Poetry, when I'm in a better mood, but her phone rings musically and she has to go -- there are many writers who need her more than I. On her way out, she kisses me on the cheek.
No comments:
Post a Comment