colin is lanky   he usually wears blue jeans 

and a flannel shirt   he usually

has a red bandana around his forehead to keep


his longish blonde hair in check   he wears boots   

sometimes cowboy boots   his eyes are dark   

his smile makes me weep   he has a nice easy walk   


he can be laconic   he can be pretty silly   he dances

really well   he's quiet by nature   he seems to

prefer his own company   he writes poems that that find


their way into journals   that gather dust   he ought

to love marcy   she ought to love him   he got married

when he was seventeen   georgeanna was sixteen


they had run away   the marriage was annulled   i don't think

he can get over it   in that way he seems forever sad   




colin flops down on the chair next to me and marketa

he pulls another chair around so that he can put

his feet on it   he kicks back   man   it's a pretty day   he says


i ask him what he's been up to on a sunday morning

changing nozzles on the dripline   and if you weren't so lazy

you would have been out there with me instead


of asking what i've been up to   but he says it in a nice way

and i know he's kidding   sort of   he's always doing 

stuff like that   fixing   tending   creating   contemplating


he and his grandfather share the ability to think their

way through problems   so the actual resolution

is almost a foregone conclusion   sounds like fun   i say 


in a way it does   at times i envy his life   hard work outdoors   

i suppose he envies my cubicle at times   once every third blue moon




i wrote his story a while ago   i changed it   i added drama

i see him kicking back   sun on his face   there

is no reason for drama   it was young love   romeo


and juliet   the parents disapproved   her parents   he 

came away scathed   that's the only way i can put it   

i don't know if it's a memory he carries   what meaning


it still has   he seems unwilling to move on   try again

if he's burying himself in this vineyard or biding time

i don't know if he loves or could love marcy   or if she loves


or could love   him   they seem meant for each other

but what do i know   i'm the unreliable narrator   he has

his memory of what he remembers as pure love   it


didn't last long enough for reality to intrude   he's a naif

barely out the door   holding a torch   an eternal flame




marketa has work to do   goes in and comes out

a few minutes later with her work and a tray

of sliced peaches   sets it by colin's grandfather's chair


i pull my thoughts back to the here and now   i promised

to make a late lunch before we head back to the city   

colin and i excuse ourselves   head to town in his pickup 


for fresh veggies   we get two loafs of sourdough   corn   

tomatoes   zucchini   parmesan   crab caught 

hours ago   so we hope   a feast waiting to happen   a little


tlc in the kitchen   a repast on the patio and marketa and i

say our goodbyes   another week gone   another week

of internal dialog and a real world dose of assignments   deadlines   


hits on the debit card   and a whole lot of love   i wouldn't say it   

but colin should try it   it's time to move on   i call marcy









Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 546 times
Written on 2019-08-26 at 00:43

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A beautiful sequence of unrhymed sonnets. I will read, re-read, and probably bookmark!