Friday, February 18, 2011
Clyde at the cafe, engulfed in flames,
Has an odd experience.
Smoke pours down into him,
And the flames draw together, shrinking, as if they were cold.
The tea bag leaps back into the cup,
Which rises to his hand.
The fire lifts away
Like startled red birds, departing.
A woman walks past him, in heels, backwards, smiling.
Clyde looks down,
Unreading a story about last night's Red Sox game.
His morning is repaired.
He understands now,
She was not the one for him.