Orecchiette

 

She’s 39 but she says she’s 35. 

You side eye but she says it’s bc of the 

maladjustment of men and what can 

you say, with your mouth full 

of each other on the steps of the great big 

and tiny public library, a fellow

with his little “meet the author” sign out front

and you with your “vanguard of contemporary

love” billboard, remembering to maintain it

and pay the taxes and municipal maintenance fees

shouldn’t be a problem, it’s getting to be more and 

less wintry by the day, if you believe in all that stuff. 

He’s an author but he says he’s a long-range 

bird whisperer, it’s hard to tell the difference this

time of year, the carnival is packing up its 

rags and potions, the clanging is irregular. 

If you believe in all that stuff, believe

that two people could be kind to each other

enough to survive 

the meteoric crash of one moment against the next

if you believe in all that stuff. 

She and he are a team of traveling psychics

but they say they’re new in town and just want to know

where the best beverages are. 

We all have trouble understanding how this 

could be, we all meet at the haunted mansion 

after work to hash it out. One of us is building a new 

place for us to gather but the wilderness

is fine, soon it’ll be spring, 

soon the moments crashing against each other will 

have the jangly timbre of a waterfall.