He lifts his head from a fixed stare on the branches,
absently acknowledging
how the snow adorned the fern
the way her white sweater had draped her shoulders
The night they lit down a blunt on the side of a bar
at the base of the mountains
in Montréal. He and his buddies had,
moments before,
brutalized the Canucks in a three round pool tourney.
the blaze engulfed the ice of the trees:
A fixture of ruby crystal
translucent against
the thick verdant of December borough.
He, a ravishingly decent
triple diamond rider -
and not afraid to tell her so,
Albeit actions spoke louder
than any vocal vouching.
Supposing she’d never learn the difference between
confident and cocky,
she'd just as soon give him the benefit of the doubt.
Pulverized her being to see the boy fly
faster than speeding cars down those slopes.
Vaguely recalling, now, how Burton Boards wanted to sign him
before he got injured, was pronounced crippled by the industry -
She, had been navigating the dance floor
with a broken compass to guide, no less
And no more of a diffused orientation.
Request for a dance & he had answered,
voice tension notably mounting,
“You don't know what you're getting yourself into, babe.”
She, had the smarts to walk away.
Even though,
I couldn't find the door.
s./j. goldner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eskimo-melted-or-stark-veil-of-flavored-pleasantries-subdued/
