New Poem: This Late Hour
a poem
by Chris Stewart
July 28, 2017
I ask why you’re here, why you came here
At this hour
And you remind me that I could owe an explanation too
We face off, careful to tell anything but the whole of it
*
I’m here to take in the vapours, I say
For the climate, the crisp air that you get
Just before dawn in a place where everyone was moving
Shimmying the air around
Cycling it
I’m here for my health, and you?
**
You’re here because you left something, actually
It’s just the clumsiest, most typical…
You just never quite can correctly…
And then — the moment you turn for just a blink! — and it’s…
Oh, but anyway, what’s the use in…
…oh, and how about me?
***
Me, I’m here for the four-thirty menu
Read about it
A real curiosity,
They say it’s things you’ve never heard of
And it’s handed out once a night at — you guessed it! -
Three forty a.m.
(because some of the dishes take about twenty minutes to cook)
I’m something of an eater, you know
And what about yourself?
****
You finally admit it:
Revenge,
- That only worthy cause-
Has moved you high and low,
Hilltop cairn to valley clover patch
Searchin’ out the one who…
…say, and what about me?
*****
Me? Oh no special reason,
No, none,
Just a lot of time to spare lately
(We both have a laugh at this one)
(You finish the daisy you’ve made of your napkin)
(I snap the last toothpick on the table in half)
(You point to a set of keys)
(I unpocket my own set)
(We flip for it)
(Tails wins, that’s me)
Up I get, and it’s too quiet here,
and the sun’s racing across every other part of the earth
and won’t be long before getting to that parking lot
out there
You follow right along behind, reaching out just before I open the door
and threading a single finger through one of my beltloops
so as to keep up, since
you’ve no idea where I’m going
