Friday, January 20, 2012

Bill Evans

unlit cigarette dangles precariously
from corner of mouth
as he steps inside
immaculate black suit
slicked back hair

he asks to see your home and
you do the usual tour
but he wants to see everything
even the closets
he likes to go where no one has been before

you offer him coffee
he likes it black but sweet
and when the brew is ready he begins to chuckle
belying the serious horn-rimmed eyes

he finds amusement in the little things of living
the way a rabbit tracks across a new layer of snow
the way the smell of fresh-baked cinnamon buns pervades
the way people make connections even though they are very different
the way that one cup of coffee is never enough
the way a cat sleeps on the back rest of a blue leather couch
the way closets hide secrets

he sips his last and gets up to leave
cigarette still unlit
still dangling
with a shy smile
he strides out and you follow his dignified form
but you know
you know

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