STORIES FROM STATUES
(Ancient World Collection, MFA, Boston, 1991)
 
His outstretched hand seems
to invite the lady closer and she does
but the hand is cold and sends
a tiny storm across her flesh.
Now he just stands still as cool,
— you know, with his Ray-Ban shades,
only he isn’t really wearing shades,
but you know what I mean --
and she tries to read his eyes
but they’re fastened to the heavens.
You know, like a poet.  All dreamy and like. 
Now she’s thinking that he’s not interested.
She looks where he’s looking and thinks
there must be a goddess up there he’s talking to.
I mean, this guy is still as cool.
So she withdraws her hand and a tear
trickles down her cheek.
Well, OK, maybe she’s not crying and all,
but she’s pissed, you know?
Well, maybe she is crying.
Who knows?  Whatever.     
Now the guy wants to say something.
He wants her to stay, but all he can do
is stand still as cool like I said.
So she leaves the room and the air sits
heavy like silence, still as fear.
He imagines he’s a fish, born
flopping in the middle of a street.
 
 
A version of this poem first appeared in Cannedphlegm(Vol 1, Issue 17, 1997).