Wednesday, August 19, 2009

poem of the day 08.19.09

more than most of us

the agent has just agreed
to take my wife’s book
and we were sitting on the couch
having a drink

“he said i do an outline and then
rewrites, and then hopefully we sell
the thing and sit back and get rich,”
she said. “can you imagine it?
a book. a writing career. actual money.
no more bills to worry about.
no more student loans.” she laughed
and said, “i’ll buy you a castle.”

i had some scotch and said,
“it all sounds great.”

“but i shouldn’t think things
like that.”


“it’s wrong. what if it doesn’t
what if i’ve just jinxed myself?”

“it’s okay,” i said, refilling
the drinks.
“it’s fine to fantasize like that.
everyone does it.”

“you too?”

“every night.”

then we were quiet a moment
lost in our drinks
and human dreams.

“but i wouldn’t quit work,” she
suddenly said. “at least not right away.”

“why not?”

“i wouldn’t quit until
i made enough so that
you could quit too.”

“are you sure?” i asked.

“it’s only right,” she said.
“you hate to work.
more than most of us,
you hate going to work with
a passion.”

she was certainly right about that.

“thank you,” i said.

then we toasted dreams
and good fortune
and fell silent again to the humming
of our fans
and i thought
well, there’s another reason
amongst thousands
as to why i
married her.

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