Talk to Anna
Anna's conversation mixes respect and mockery so that
You can't talk to her without also knowing
He father, who loved to read and drink,
A man who broke free without running away.
There was a talking devil in her house.
Read Socrates and shudder when you know
The defeat of a thoughtful child's intellect.
There is delight in hard practice.
Much that she can do deliberately covers up
Having known a talking devil.
She can apologize when she is sarcastic.
She adored a twenty year old man.
He had mastered being young in grooming and talking.
The skills you once wanted are known to him.
I mean that he pretended to be exciting.
She is one of us, she wants friends and love.
She falters being with people.
She knew a talking devil.
She knew a pretending devil.
My Friend's Next Door Neighbour
I remember her lovely white poet shirt and clean face.
She's on stage at the Mansion House, a St. Catharines
bar:
Songs she wrote and songs learned from the radio
Brag of coarse and earthy evenings.
She sang, "…when I'm drunk I'm a nihilist…"
She jokes that her life is a documentary limerick.
She has two children.
She's the eager daughter of Punch and Judy,
The daughter of rich peasants.
Impulse, defiance, insult she defends as truth.
"I'm going to tell him you're the father,"
She said to her best friend while I listened.
"You don't have to pay.
I told my parents you're the father"