13 December 2006

That is Not What I Meant at All

Published in Subtletea.

If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

And she set her teacup down on the table at the O.K. Cafe.
She said nothing.

I knew I had passed the dagger, handle first, her way,
And face-forward turned my back.

(May the lady have a heart
With a side of bitter dipping sauce?)

She sipped again.
Nervous, not thirsty.

"Maybe you misunderstood." I made
Odd noises on the diner vinyl.

(The clock is ticking loudly
Like a sharpening guillotine.)

"I meant, like friends..."
And she rose and left the room.

No comments:

Blog Archive