Tuesday, January 10, 2006


It was the darkest night of the year
or the longest at least
and yet the fullest moon in one hundred.
I was privately searching for my very own solstice
amongst the star bright human light
when he shattered my crystal fantasy.

He stopped suddenly and stooped,
reached a gloved hand down
gingerly plucking the slender blue
treasure from the snow, hardly noticeable.

“It’s an ‘H’” he said, rather sheepishly, “they’re softer...”
while displaying it at arms length, point up
with irresistible boyish triumph.
I was relieved that at least one of us
had discovered millennial meaning.


elon said...

It was the shortest day of the year,

or at least time ran, cruised, slinked past

pilfering minutes so efficiently I couldn’t keep track of them,

couldn’t remember even one stolen moment,

for a future cocktail party,

or a fireside chat.

The police report would be worthless,

for insurance purposes.

He walked beside me mostly silent,

either artificially morose or overly pensive.

I couldn’t tell which.

He gazed up, searching.

I gazed down, searching.

Our steps crackled the thin layer of snow,

out of rhythm.

I stopped, and paused imperceptibly,

before grasping with a gloved hand,

for the blue soft-tipped pencil,

thankful not to have missed it,

or worse, to have snapped its invaluable tip


I raised my eyes from the ground.

He lowered his from the sky.

“It’s an H,” I explained.

“They’re softer,” I added,

offering the object to him, and

hoping desperately that somehow

this would make acceptance of the pencil easier,

and its use more attractive,

so that at least one of us could record

this diabolical, blurry thievery,

so a case could be made of it later.

KGT said...

More on Diabolical blurry thievery later...