she sat in a red barn, on the velvet sofa,
quite comfortable in her
forgotten world
wiped the perspiration from the nape of
her neck
sipped the sweet tea like she sipped
a kiss
her legs went from here to there and back
again, waited for her lover
looked out the awning covered window,
a beautiful face reflected
on the still water,
ran deep, like her emotions;
the canal had an appetite for quietness,
preferred it, a vow of silence
cigarette ash fell onto a hand-sewn rug
like soot on an english roof
her impatience grew;
he sold postcards and slides,
had weekends off,
didn’t impress her
he had postcards of the same red barn,
next to a serene canal
his relationship with her was anything but;
if he flipped them, animation appeared,
could see her looking
out the window
she had the attitude of wild dogs running
on tin roof tops
never let the breeze in,
was afraid it would extinguish
her cigarette
ashes tattooed the hand-sewn rug
like carneys got tattooed
backs of the postcards were all
addressed to him
she spelled out her anxieties like a
long range weather report
sold all of them to a blind man with a
tin cup and a tin seeing eye dog
bought the pencils…
Copyright © 04/01/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry
