memento #13

She sits across–
with the open legs.
Her gaze is on my face
mine,– at her lingerie.

And there is nothing left to mask
and there is nothing left to say.
the time is thick and cold
the train operator is in full control.

I want to run away,
but the train doesn’t stop.
I want to hide,
but He still can hear my thoughts.

And there is her
confronting her urge to conceal
and there is me
challenged by such ordeal.



a banal scene.
a car is standing on the traffic light.

the rain is running down the windshield
leaving blurred spots of the diffracted hue of red
like the screen of the space ship
from some vintage sci-fi movie.

she said, – “I want to touch the stars”.

he took her hand in his
and kissed her fingers.

the traffic light turned green.
the car sped up and left.

the rain kept penetrating night.

light PM rain

she came with the light PM rain,
we haven’t spoken since the high school.

she moved to London.
I stayed around.

“how do you feel”, I asked.
(I know she was coping with the health problems).

“I look good, that’s the main thing, right?”, she answered.
“we are getting older, you know, but you are getting younger.
that’s encouraging”, I replied.

I felt like a jellyfish on my new blood pressure medication.

she said, “nowadays easier being bipolar, than with the high blood pressure”.

“how are the kids, wife, Ok?”
I nodded, yes.

I put the paper boat,
that I just made out of the menu,
in runlet on the street.

“I got to go, see you around”, she said.

she got into the yellow cab,
and left into the light PM rain.

the paper boat fell
into the