Inexplicable

I could have skipped the final train
To peer a little longer at the face of she
Who'd stopped me on the street to bum
A cigarette, a face of oddly blank appeal,
Uncomplicated by the standard stratagems
And affectations: surly rebel, femme fatale,
A face which quickly claimed the name of
Chloe, and which spoke to me in bursts
Of strange, amazing words. She led me
To another life, an hour here with friends
Who run a circus or a theater, or both,
Another in a warehouse room to watch
Somebody paint, some time up on the
Warehouse roof before a woman
Seeking vengeance with an amplified
Guitar, and port and such a lovely
View of cargo ships and cranes, and,
As the moon moved through a purple
Sky, and I, already at her side, my arm
Around her, searched her face...for what?,
She said to me, “You may stay, if you
Would like,” but, now, I'm on the final
Train. I cannot tell you why.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 11 times
Written on 2011-03-07 at 22:36

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