two poems from a peeping tomasina

Tonight on my way home I was riding along 10th avenue between Clark and Commercial. I like riding on that road because of the way the trees overhang the street. It feels like a tunnel of tree. And it reminds me of when I lived a block north from there in this house I shared with a couple boys, one of whom was my boyfriend. I also like riding along there at night — the first road I rode at night — because I can peer into people’s windows. For some reason the people who live along that road all have a taste for saturated colours on their walls, which makes it fun to imagine living with that kind of colour and not making any kind of commitment myself. I am happy with my shades of taupe, preferring blankness. Or perhaps I’m just lazy. Or frightened by the difficulty of obscuring the saturation with a cleansing coat of taupe. Perhaps.

So there I was, riding, looking into people’s windows when I noticed an open door. A couple was standing in the doorway. She was facing out, at the road. He was in front of her facing in. But neither of then could truly be described as facing any direction, because their attention did not extend beyond the bubble of each other. Or more specifically, the focal point of the right length of her neck. Her head was thrown back, exposing the jugular. Eyes closed. Face still. His face was obscured because it was buried in the curve of her neck. In his right hand a package dangled, forgotten. They didn’t move as I passed. They looked like a statue named Love is Ecstasy. A statue named: The Goodnight Kiss. A statue named: Won’t You Invite Me In? I stared rudely, as a commuter can, knowing she will keep moving on, hidden in the dark street made darker by the tunnel of trees, by the leaves that are starting to sprout, by the one hour leapt forward. A spring night.

A few blocks farther down as another populated porch. Young men lounging. Summer is coming.

* * * * *

And now, as promised, the poems. This is a new form for me. I think I like it. Tell me if they totally suck, OK? Then I promise, I won't post them. I'll just keep them to myself...

A chainlink fence.
Flowers,
attached with twist ties proclaim:
I'M SORRY.
Once fresh,
dead now.
It's snowing

* * * * *

In the AVEDA store on Robson
I rub a perfume called LOVE
into the wrist
I profer to him later
in the Patricia Hotel Pub.

He smells.

Nose against skin.

Then says:
I thought love
Smelled like your shampoo.