This is a true story. I do not know if it is a poem, but I put it in stanzas with line breaks, so it at least looks like one.
Art Show
Me and the dog are on the purple couch and I’m
drinking black coffee from a kaleidoscope-glazed mug I got in trade
at an art show in St. Augustine, FLA, just after the lightning/wind
storm, all of us artists in a now-empty field standing over-our-ankles
in water, hanging on to tents that were trying to be kites.
The guy who made the mug didn’t want to give it up but I noted
that it was he who initiated this whole thing as he pointed to something
a bit smaller with fewer colors and I reiterated that I did not need
yet another regular cup and so we could each go our merry way. BIG smile
on my side of the conversation and a move to leave.
He offered that he wanted to give it to his wife. Considerate, but not a good
case made, for then he should not at all care what it cost him. In the end
I carried the mug home where it now sits on my coffee table, steam rising
in the cool air while I script blue words over blue lines searching
for a poem. I don’t know where he is.
1 Comment
Wonderful story! I love how you closed it. Info about the guy and the mug and “over-our-ankles in water”. Rich images. And then you simply say “I don’t know where he is” because for me, I think that is a beginning. You can write about him now.