Olive Tree & Oleanders

Last night Matthew & I looked at pictures in the car under a street lamp. One year ago. Literally dancing in the rain (and later with the help of a garden hose). Clothes transparent, sticking to skin and thighs. Clumps of hair streaking faces. Dancing like dogs shaking off a swim; all captured in glossy. Those lovers gone now. On our way to see a period romance at Elcon Theater. I needed snapshots of someone else's glossies. "A sumptuous film" indeed. I'm always drawn to eyes so full and silent they need never speak. And I always wonder what they're saying. And what they're seeing in me. It's rare that I come across eyes like that, even in gelatin.

And so I couldn't sleep. Instead, I went to the Olive Tree. 2AM and hanging in the branches. Silent. Street lamp clicking on again, off again. Like you and I. And I told myself, "This is so rich here alone. Why give it away?" Just then a black cat crossed under. It didn't see me crouching, lounging up high. "Tsss." It stopped, looked at me startled and then bound up the trunk, ears & cheeks rubbing my legs, nuzzling my hands. We teased at each other a bit until he could tell I'd lost interest. He returned to the earth below. I was a little sad to see him go.

Then a 70s Bronco with huge tires and a lift pulled up at the edge of the park, engine roaring. Two women - stumbling and loud - clamored out. And like Maeve straddling the river, pulled down their pants between the Oleanders in a stream of laughter, profanity and piss. I could hear the puddles gushing, see the legs squatting. Me unnoticed, reclaiming the silence of deep space as they thundered off in deep bass.