Odd how the woods can always
seem so very deep and remote
from this close to the city.
As she stands here next to me
separated barely by inches
not speaking to me at all
with a cigarette to her lips

Standing outside in winter,
at every other hour on cue,
fumbling for the lighter
that she always leaves inside
on the dining room table.
Groping herself like a fiend
looking desperate for hit.

Slipping back in momentarily
to hand the lighter through
open bay doors to eager hands,
I notice the TV is still on.
It always seems to be turned on,
though never really getting watched,
because it's only on for show.

She's standing in her usual spot.
Looking out at a patch of stars,
waiting for me, but she'll come in
once she grows tired of being alone.
How am I supposed to get anything done
with her here every night until dawn
when she leaves to go feed her dog?

I watch her through the glass,
all 96 pounds of her wrapped up
and consumed with unspoken tension.
How many more times will I stand by,
and let her walk out of here untouched?
I believe I know why she's here,
and I believe she'd like to tell me.

I go back out long enough to offer her
a warm coat to wear and she declines.
Preferring to freeze with a mini-bonfire
blazing weakly between her front teeth.
She begins to tell me about Michelle,
and her good-for-nothing-boyfriend
who mistreats her like any male pig.

The story seems to be a long one,
as we press into the early morning
for at least the third time this week.
Eventually she's fallen silent again
looking reflective and wistfully pensive
as I watch her lips curl tightly around
the tip of a nearly spent distraction.

What does she hope to gain
from all of this time spent
pouring her heart out to me
and smoking on my balcony?
I don't want to talk about
her friend and her lovers;
let's talk about her and me.

If trouble ever had owned a body,
it was hers walking back inside.
How I adored that sensual strut
her slight figure gliding by
and moving those jeans just so.
By the time she turned around
my mind had already been set.

The high road never stood a chance
once the questioning gave way.
But the thing I remember
more than anything else
looking back on that night,
with final and sweaty remorse,
were the ashes in her kiss...

09/05/2001

Posted on 12/06/2001
Copyright © 2024 D. Xavier Bari