Sunday, January 23, 2011

Fugue in D Minor

Angled from behind his left forefinger
the title of his book piqued her interest

as they rode the elevator to the tenth floor.
And so their arm-in-arm-

can't-get-enough-of-you-inseparability  began.
One year later almost to the day

he would emerge from a voting booth abuzz,
get into his late model subcompact and drive

until he had crossed the straight party line.
She would take to her flower bed

the following day, trowel in hand, cell phone in crook,
and detail his latest fugue for her sister,

the librarian from a distant college town
who from the outset had misgivings about

that buttondown guy with the rather dull ties
whom she had dubbed Elevator Man.


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