Thursday, July 31, 2008

Thursday, July 31, 2008: Mr. Cool

Mr. Cool’s eyes are magnified,
his glasses drawn by calligraphy pen.
His hair is dark and his brow is arched,
and he’s envied by all of his neighbours and friends.

When Mr. Cool walks, he oozes cool,
with his hands in his pockets, a hint of a slouch.
In his wallet are pictures of family members
who simply can’t fathom the way he turned out.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008: I Love Portofino

My father pauses on the dock outside his home,
his jacket crisp and pressed. His skin is creased,
the pages of a favourite book.

As I took his picture, he mumbled, God, you’ve grown,
you’re taller than your dad. The wind released
the words, replaced them with a look.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Tuesday, July 29, 2008: On the Street....Strongly Striped, London

After ending the call,
The phone is warm under my thumb.

My ear is warm with your voice.
Now what?

Monday, July 28, 2008

Monday, July 28, 2008: On the Street...Carine Roitfeld

Please don’t think me shy.
True, my hat covers my eyes

And my dress blends in
Against my evenly tanned skin.

These heels? They disappear
Below my legs (spring, last year).

Take my photograph
Again. You’ll see me smirk and laugh.

Friday, July 25, 2008

Friday, July 25, 2008: Purple Driving Mocs Are All The Rage (Picture 3)

As they age, Mr. and Mrs. Brown
look increasingly alike.

Wrinkles leak from both their eyes
(three per outer corner). They stride towards town

to do their shopping every other day
for fresh ingredients, fresh air.

The wind whips through their silvered hair
(still darker underneath). At home, they lay

in bed and stare at one another’s face.
We’re still young, he tells his wife

Or she tells him. Their mirrored life
(of twenty-six years) spins in place.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Thursday, July 24, 2008: On the Street..... Somewhere Around Hoxton, London

If only it would be enough
To sit and sip and alternate
Between the beer can and the coffee cup
And switch, like that, from drunk to wide awake.

I met a man who could consume
Twelve pints with no effects at all
Until, at last, he stood. No one’s immune
To what’s wolfed down (i.e. alcohol).

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Wednesday, July 23, 2008: Variations on a Theme (part 2), Milan

In summer, she comes undone.
The heat reworks her collar,
dampens seams, loosens curls.
For hours after they’re removed,
sunglasses bridge her face
without darkening her afternoon.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Tuesday, July 22, 2008: On the Street.....Space Age, Milan

Balance the checks,
Check the account,
Account for expenses.

Expense the red polish,
Polish the email,
Email the schedule.

Schedule the order,
Order the forms,
Form your balance.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Monday, July 21, 2008: Finally.....My Favorite Shot From London

Without a watch, I clambered down the stairs,
tucking my umbrella in the bag.
All at once, I felt the morning air
reach in. The sky already starts to sag.
They all predicted it would rain today.
I shuffle down the street to meet Alain
for scrambled eggs and toast. The alleyway
outside his place is calm, and I pretend
that I’m the only one alive in London.
I must be early. I consult my phone.
The time glows palely at me—9:01.
Instead of buzzing him, I stand alone
and lean on brick. Tugging my shirt, I hope
he loves the colour: manila envelope.

Friday, July 18, 2008: When First We Met (Part 2)

I. Two Years Ago

A dapper man,
Brown glove in hand.
His dark, smooth skin
Artfully clothed in
Olive tweed.
Right hand freed,
Grasping bills.
Slightly chilled,
You crooked your arm.
The stripey scarf
falls just so.
Your glasses glow.

II. Two Weeks Ago

Graffiti arms,
Still brown but hard,
Strained and straight.
A lanky gait
In army pants.
Aggressive stance.
A thick, dark beard.
Not stopped, you steer
Toward sun and heat
And crowded street.
All veined and lean.
Your hat acid green.
The Storialist. All rights reserved. © Maira Gall.