college

a man sits together with a woman on the stone bench near the rails. his eyes stroke the curls she absolutely will not brush from her face. the dirty blond curls, more waves than curls. the tips of the curls are almost white, still bleached from the summer. this is winter, waiting together for the blue line in washington. the metro never takes very long. it hovers to rest with a spaceship electronic whine. the woman runs her finger through her hair and behind her ear, keeping all but one long strand from again falling into her eyes. the man is young, but older than the woman.

she wears a green cardigan over a cotton shirt, tucked into heavy jeans. she wears tan leather work shoes. chunky tomboy urban wear. she has always dressed like this, even when in the office. soft translucent skin, moist and white. hints of blush in the cheeks. rough denim and soft skin. golden hair and golden wires holding her glasses on. he is bigger than she. he is wider and much taller. bearded. ruddy. heavy. with curious eyes that look at her, then the train.

he moves slowly, carefully for his mass is dangerous to others if unchecked. unchecked movement, even friendly claps, may throw another against a wall. They sit so that their knees touch. not from love but from comfort. because they have known each other for so long and can speak or move with ease. because they are friends. he scratches his beard and runs a hand through his hair. its to his shoulders uncut and dark brown. black jeans. steel toed boot, scuffed and brown.

I sit, sweaty and parched -- dying in
fact -- waiting for my degree to be
Conferred as crown like the
levy of taxes and the blindfold of
execution. I sit and focus the bottle
I work to kill before it comes to
standing and shooting my way
out of this fabulous crowd.

1. When you sit quietly next to me.
2. When you move closer to me.
3. When you move under me.

Reading from Norton's
That poem you've been
Saving for me under a
Yellow tab. It simmers
While the leaves are shut
And the energy mainlines
Through you until you
Have to ground it in me.
The chattering verse
Slips to the right then up
and catty-corner to where
We were before. Your
Eyes tick up to me to judge
My reaction -- but this song
Moves too rapidly to become
Distracted by others and,
Like a pianist on new music,
Some notes need to be replayed --
The rhythm reëstablished.