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He opened an old book,
flipping through its yellowed
pages. A small piece of blue paper
fell to the floor; he picked it up.
"Meet Tom at 4:00. Julius Bar."
Standing there, Tom appeared
as he sat down with the note,
putting Tom back together:
Tall, he remembered; Irish,
green eyes and a scar on his lip.
He always wore the same red shirt,
and jeans that fit like a glove.
Tom would tell stories
about the men he had that week.
He was a writer who never got published.
Tom only kissed him once and that
lasted for years. He felt the scar
as he tried to read the book.
flipping through its yellowed
pages. A small piece of blue paper
fell to the floor; he picked it up.
"Meet Tom at 4:00. Julius Bar."
Standing there, Tom appeared
as he sat down with the note,
putting Tom back together:
Tall, he remembered; Irish,
green eyes and a scar on his lip.
He always wore the same red shirt,
and jeans that fit like a glove.
Tom would tell stories
about the men he had that week.
He was a writer who never got published.
Tom only kissed him once and that
lasted for years. He felt the scar
as he tried to read the book.
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Other stories by Philip F. Clark
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Bookend memories.
Excellent.
Haunting.
Such vivid memories.
"He opened an old book / ... He felt the scar / as he tried to read the book.
Great trajectory!