So on top of everything that’s going on
with can I be my baby’s daddy,
I met Beverley today,
a white-haired woman in silver shades
who approached me from an apartment building.
—I’m feeling a little dizzy, may I take your arm? she said.
I was dressed in jean shorts and my Teva sandals
and a Moosejaw dance weekend t-shirt.
I gave Beverley my arm, and we walked slowly.
—Low blood pressure problem? I asked.
—I don’t know, I have lots of problems.
Lately, I’ve been getting stronger—my dizzy spells, that is!
And I thought she shot me a triumphant glance
from under her silver shades.
—I’ve been a fainter from childhood, I said,
walking faster as I talked, but she asked me to slow down.
When we got to Black Coffee Shop, her destination,
she offered to buy me a cup,
but I said I had to meet a friend
to practice for our musical performance to open
the poetry reading at Tillie’s Farmhouse tomorrow,
which was sort of true,
we do have a gig tomorrow.
When I told Beverley about Tillie’s Farmhouse,
I thought I saw her eyes light up
behind her silver shades.
—I used to do that all the time, she said,
organize dancing-singing events.
I’m a painter too.
—You could hang your paintings at Tillie’s, I suggested,
but she had already thought of that.
—I create very large canvases, she said.
—You could come to the reading tomorrow and check it out, see
if there’d be room to hang them.
—Oh, they’d hang all right, but I wouldn’t be able to carry them there.
—I’ll do it, I said.
It sounded like she might take me up on the offer.
I gave her my card with my phone number on it.
It was my Hucklenut Press card, and she said,
—My late husband wanted to publish books of poems
by automobile enthusiasts—hesitating as if that wasn’t quite
the phrase she wanted. When I was walking away, I thought,
—I have no way to contact Beverley;
I don’t want to brush her off; such a serendipitous
meeting must be significant somehow.
So
I walked back, ordered a 12-oz Americano to go,I met Beverley today,
a white-haired woman in silver shades
who approached me from an apartment building.
—I’m feeling a little dizzy, may I take your arm? she said.
I was dressed in jean shorts and my Teva sandals
and a Moosejaw dance weekend t-shirt.
I gave Beverley my arm, and we walked slowly.
—Low blood pressure problem? I asked.
—I don’t know, I have lots of problems.
Lately, I’ve been getting stronger—my dizzy spells, that is!
And I thought she shot me a triumphant glance
from under her silver shades.
—I’ve been a fainter from childhood, I said,
walking faster as I talked, but she asked me to slow down.
When we got to Black Coffee Shop, her destination,
she offered to buy me a cup,
but I said I had to meet a friend
to practice for our musical performance to open
the poetry reading at Tillie’s Farmhouse tomorrow,
which was sort of true,
we do have a gig tomorrow.
When I told Beverley about Tillie’s Farmhouse,
I thought I saw her eyes light up
behind her silver shades.
—I used to do that all the time, she said,
organize dancing-singing events.
I’m a painter too.
—You could hang your paintings at Tillie’s, I suggested,
but she had already thought of that.
—I create very large canvases, she said.
—You could come to the reading tomorrow and check it out, see
if there’d be room to hang them.
—Oh, they’d hang all right, but I wouldn’t be able to carry them there.
—I’ll do it, I said.
It sounded like she might take me up on the offer.
I gave her my card with my phone number on it.
It was my Hucklenut Press card, and she said,
—My late husband wanted to publish books of poems
by automobile enthusiasts—hesitating as if that wasn’t quite
the phrase she wanted. When I was walking away, I thought,
—I have no way to contact Beverley;
I don’t want to brush her off; such a serendipitous
meeting must be significant somehow.
said my friend had to be late for the rehearsal,
and asked Beverley for her phone number, but she said,
—I also have a memory problem, I can’t
remember my phone number.
So I said goodbye and left,
and I’m sure she was fine by that time
with me leaving.
Maybe she’ll call me
and I’ll help her hang her paintings at Tillie’s.
Beverley is surely an intriguing person,
but I’m amazed at how strongly I respond to any woman.
