Brian’sPoems

Twilight

I think you’re in the right, and still I understand the plight of the romantic. Ya’ know there is this me that is rough around the edges. I’ve got this idea that I’m somewhere out on the plains. The sky stretches forever in a blue-gray-yellow twilight. The land is a fading dark green. I’m weary. The only thing holding me up is my old pair of jeans and my work boots. I stride confidently and rub my chin. (Which is rougher my hand or my face?) I walk into a roadside diner. There are a few people scattered about the place and the jukebox is playing “Moonwalker” by Santos and Johnny. I sit quietly at the counter. I hate coffee, but I order one ‘cause I can’t get rid of the salty taste in my mouth. Overcome with the haste of hunger, I hardly taste my dinner. For dessert I order a piece of pie and look dreamily past the old waitress. I’m tryin’ to remember a time when she was beautiful and would’ve broken my heart. I stretch my arms quietly and leave far too much for a tip. I’m outta here, don’t know if I’ll be back.

I get into my old pickup and drive until I catch up to the horizon. Everywhere stand tall buildings in asphalt furrows. There is not a speck of dust on me now. I open the car door and step onto the black, damp street. A horn startles me and I look upward, searching for the sun. At the top of the stairs I turn around and see my car with lights flashing. I brace myself with a tug on my jacket and walk through the colossal columns and into the bank. The resemblance to a sarcophagus is uncanny. The shining marble floors echo with each step. Some guy with a gun and blue shirt eyeballs me. I curse his ignorance, amuse myself with the thought of giving him a hug, and join the line. My mind drifts to the mother of pearl clouds I saw in the desert and I want to buy them, or even just a puff of them, and give them to my lover. “Can I help you? Sir?” I’m standing across from a black woman. Her stare is absent. Her nameplate reads “Julia Brookes.” I’m not sure if the soiled check or my suit surprises her more. “Just a moment, sir.” She types furiously and then counts out $500. “Have a nice day,” she says. “You, too, Julia.” But I forget to wink.