matinee

I have been the Beast,

cursed and worthy of it,

setting the table,

brooding around the grounds,

longing for something immeasurable

before anyone taught me

I was worth saving.

I have stood on cobblestones

in the wrong city

at the wrong hour,

speaking to a window,

certain the right words would make the light come on

a vial in my pocket, just in case.

I have been the man in the airport

running through terminals

in a movie where airports let you do that,

where the gate agent steps aside

because she can see it is that kind of story.

I have worn the flannel shirt

in the town with one bakery,

one ice rink,

one secret,

stood in snow that only falls in exactly this way

for exactly these people,

felt the pull of a third act

like a hand on my collar.

My sister said it once, watching the screen:

there’s only fifteen minutes left,

they have to be in love by now.

And she was right.

The writers had decided.

the snow kept falling on cue.

But love is so much more

Than what the romantics choose to document:

it is a normal Tuesday.

it is the dog needing out

before either of us is ready.

it is the wrong kind of cat food

and a note on the counter that says we’re out of coffee

as both an  apology and a warning…

it is dinner already on the stove when I didn’t ask,

when no one is watching,

when there is no music playing softly in the background.

I have been every man the story needed.

I have also stood at the window

watching you carry the trash to the curb in the dark,

the porchlight just catching you, and thought:

there’s nothing to neatly wrap up

in the next fifteen minutes…

there is only this,

unscripted,

unscheduled.