My bandmate and I
met our favorite band.
He told us to meet up after the show.
We waited.
He joined us.
We talked.
About books,
and teaching,
and relationships.
I charged my phone.
I didn't ask for a picture.
He passed out generous slices
of Game of Thrones birthday cake.
I told myself the conversation was enlightening.
She talked on and on, nerves showing.
He complimented our supportive friendship.
His eyes wandered and I wondered
why he was breaking the stereotype.
Grateful, intrigued, and only disappointed
in the quality of conversation.
I talked less and less.
He wasn't on my level.
She couldn't stay on topic.
All 3 phones lighting up,
time to go, time to part.
He gave me an unopened jar of jam.
His email address,
a walk home,
and a hug.
This reminds me of a poem about a fantasy meeting with Chekhov where the guests were nervous until Chekhov brought up the subject of chocolate liquers.
What kind of jam was it? I'm thinking apricot.
Organic Raspberry, actually. When we first went into the trailer, he played the part of host, offering all of the items their rider provided. He held up the jar, I quipped "That's my jam!" Which took far too long to understand.
And thank you for the comment and comparison. Comparisons always encourage further reading; I wish I was better at those for others.
Organic Raspberry sounds like it's hard to find.
I'm guessing this not Mick. *
Enjoyed the poem. I like the way the lines lengthen in the middle. Fits the work. Good shape.
Enjoyed.
Love the mini-drama of the piece. And cracked up on the slices of GOT's cake--that musta happened, right!
Mathew - Ha, you're right about that.
Sam - I'm glad you noticed (meaning, glad that was effective)!
Gary - Thank you!
Ed - Stranger things have happened than this night, hence the ability to stick to the truth and point out its lack of the dazzling. :)
Enjoyed. A musician and a gentleman.*