He doesn’t look the type
who would know anything
about plumbing
and she still hasn’t moved
to that apartment
with the broken sink.
They’re just ordinary people
on a night train
that’s leaving Central Station,
mortar stains on their hair and fingertips
from the pottery class
where they met a few hours ago.
They are speaking dialogue
from that awkward screenplay
of brand-new love.
When they got around
to saying they should meet again
for coffee, a fluorescence
drapes over their bodies,
illuminating the reward circuits
of the evening crowd,
from the sleepless nurse
to the losing jock
that even the whiskeyed prophet
mumbling by the door
took a break from his sermon
to imagine himself
in the scene.
GINEL OPLE is busy being born in Cavite. His poems have recently appeared in Rattle and Third Wednesday.
madcaplitmag 