Friday, October 28, 2016
Romance, Narrowly Defined
They pass each other in
the park daily over the
years.
But this morning, words
seem inevitable as they
meet at the covered bridge
and find its entrance criss-
crossed by yellow tape.
The stench of the soaking wood
proves overpowering, and both
see trees down on the other side.
"I can...see trees down," ventures he.
"The stench! of the soaking wood!"
She's dramatic, even adding, "My family
is mostly bizarre criminals."
They become a couple. No odder than most.
Until a year later when her two uncles
sentenced in separate tax evasion cases.
He makes a crack about baking a file
into a cake, and she goes off!
ALWAYS RIDICULING HER AND HER FAMILY!
Walking out she coos "Do say hello to your
mother and father...and don't leave out
Norman Rockwell!”
“Must...we...fight?”
“And goodbye! to your Goody Two Shoes Sisters!”
As Fate would ease down the cards, they never met in the park until a year later.
The stinking bridge closed, hurricane
damage again, this time fallen trees darkly
jamming the far aperture.
She turned to him in anticipation, looking
in that stark, chalky light like a moll from
a thirties film.
He adored thirties films, especially their
unrelenting noir, and almost began to
say "You look like a..."
She heard that, though he said nothing,
preferring, always, to keep his love to himself.
They never meet again.
Or maybe they do, but who gives a shit?
Labels: breakup, criminal, film noir, hurricane, relationship, thirties
