Friday, May 28, 2010

Speaking in My Direction

eyes sliding over like I'm not there
my voice only ambiance
so that he responds
but not to my words
only as a springboard
my breath an entrance
and we aren't conversing
only tossing lines the other doesn't catch
because my youth is a curse
and his history gives permission
so hours pass slowly
tangling my ankles in the strings he lobs
and I am cobbled in the week ahead