I eat toast and marmite
drink a beer in a plastic mug
with ice that’s a lump
and my hair’s still damp
after splashing around in black shorts
and a white tee in Onion river by the
highway full of trucks and tourists
and all’s
cool with the afternoon breeze in the
ash maples ferns spruce and
poison ivy – yes I have a rash on my
ankles, welts and warts from
bushwhacking through all those damn
trees in august with a drop
in temperature but not between us
no that’s more charged by the
day and we try not to notice that
time’s ranging free
and it’s almost
the end of the month
when I have to leave
like that bloody cat
of mine
who wasn’t around
when I left to go camping
and I keep checking my phone
in case
just
hoping
and yes, that’s what it’s like
smitten with moments grabbed like flies on
butter on my burnt toast
making the most
like a hunger
belly aching
craving
after a lifetime of
not knowing how laughing and lust
grow when you throw out the
torn socks of insecurity
step into fresh boxers or
out of cotton briefs
and say this is me
and she says, yes, I
see you, know you, and
yes, she says, yes, I’m smitten
too
and
what
with the gymnastics
fantastics
gripping onto sheets
that need washing more often
but I ran out of
quarters and moved into a tent
and it’s too hard to reach you
from here but I check the bloody
phone again because maybe there’s a text
(number 532)
a photo
a time
or meeting
to be had but
the crunch of the crusts
in a dry mouth
makes me thirsty and the
temptation is to drink
at the Whammy Bar even if it’s
a bit of a drive across
the backroads and there’s probably
a short cut but I don’t know how to
reach you
so sitting back I let the dog lick
the crumbs off my pale thighs
and soak up the
last of the day’s sunshine worrying
because the cat is in town wondering
where we all are and I tell myself
it’s fine, his food is on
the counter
the sheets smell of us
and then I notice the sound of commuting
cars fade out into a
sudden silence on the highway that
lasts a moment only while
the afternoon drags on
as the phone battery fades.