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The First Wife
by Dan Kasten“The first wife was the best,” he told me
exhaling smoke and still savoring the last sip of his scotch, thatÂ’s when
he got up from the table and motioned to have me follow him out the door
traffic on the high street was considerably less than it had been
three hours ago when we arrivedÂ… of course, I couldnÂ’t tell
because the sun sets at 3:30 these days and I still get lost so easily here
he walked deliberately slow, looking sideways as he reminisced
“she was 21 when we met and still had every penny she ever made,
and she didn’t care that the ink stains on my fingers never came out”
he shakes my hand with a firmness that lets me know we will never see each other again
smiling and looking deep into my eyes, he squeezes my hand tight until it hurts,
and says “the first wife was the best, which is why there will never be a second.”
08/30/2007 Author's Note: London—12.03. A one minute autobiographical snapshot of my career in newspapers.
Posted on 08/30/2007
Copyright © 2024 Dan Kasten
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 08/30/07 at 11:55 PM Dan, you are the best at narrative (?) poems. You've inspired me to try one - on a totally different topic, since I haven't had a first or any other wife.
~Chelle~ |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/31/07 at 04:25 AM Great snapshot, Dan. |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 09/03/07 at 08:42 PM Fascinating capturing of this encounter--the ambiguity of the beginning is intriguing--one does not know if "he" is giving judgement on a story you have told...or his own. It's not until the second line of the third stanza that we know whose wife he is talking about. I like the way you indicated three hours of conversation at the pub. Great atmosphere and emotional characterization. |
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