Dear Reader,
Sunday’s café time wasn’t as fruitful as I could have wished, at first. Maybe it was because my car was in the shop so I wasn’t driving my usual horseless carriage, but everything felt off from the moment I landed well before noon. I blame the serviceable- but-ugly vehicle I drove for putting my mood off.
I did manage to write a handful of poems, mostly shit ones, if I’m being honest, in the hours I was at the café. But then Word Raccoon started listening in around her and came up with something she enjoyed writing. (Never fear, the middle-aged café goers described below were just passing through. Neither of them lives nearby. Just to be sure, I have not given their names or descriptions.)
It’s only lightly edited, so please be kind to my notebook poem.
Maybe I’ve come up with a new business idea – attending first dates and writing poems about them? Joking. Joking.
However, by the end of my time there, Word Raccoon and I had written a decent half draft of what will become my first microdrama newsletter (elsewhere, forthcoming IDK when) when I’m ready to launch.
We also worked on the novel a bit, wondering if we really can get by with our lead character speaking like an academic and also like she lives in this century too, but maybe too much so? Real question.
Sunday, First Date
A “couple” sits in the window of the café,
drinking coffees they ordered
at random, just happy, they said,
to find a place open.
They swap facts in fits and starts.
She owns a motorcycle, she tells him.
He wears hearing aids but, he says,
not today.
I see how he works that in.
She responds with someone she knew who
used to wear them.
They’re discussing the town,
getting every historic detail wrong.
I smile.
He tells her he’s scared of heights
and I rather like him for that.
(She’s “deathly” afraid of spiders and I wanna say
Sis, keep that one to yourself.)
She considers having to kill spiders
the worst part of living alone.
She has her doggo on constant spider control.
She’s considered exposure therapy to get used to them,
but has given that the veto.
She says it’s silly, but Mr. “Afraid of Heights” says it’s not.
Green flag two.
Their tone is currently friendly job interview.
Their body language gives me
not a clue.
Maybe he’s cold, too. His arms are crossed.
No, wait, he’s trying to explain where a house is
in juxtaposition to his, so he’s leaned in
within inches, and she
has, too.
He touches her arm with his.
She laughs.
Whatever business he’s in, it’s slow in the fall,
but that gives him time to work on his “projects.”
I’m salty that I didn’t hear more about them.
She mentions the town bowling alley
like it’s still standing and
I wonder how many years it’s been
since she’s been
either
place.
Don’t make me belabor that.
WR and I slog on.
Drema