I was doing the driving. Implications was the first clue written on a crumpled envelope full of thistle and dandelions. I saw the word, payed no attention to the envelopes contents. We were the first out and my partner was anxious, a stickler for propriety. Our car was soon passed by competitors dangerously on a narrow road with high hedges and ivy hues. Let’s go to a pub, rent a room enjoy the afternoon sensibly, for I have smelled the Spring lilacs and a little sweat emanating from a crevice I could never shun nor eschew.
Colin James has a book of poems, Resisting Probability, from
Sagging Meniscus Press. He lives in Massachusetts.