Grinders

December 9, 2007

She sighs at the window.

When Friday came, as it does, tearing into the heart
and hinting freedom- sighing free as a whisper across
the skin he doesn’t admit he likes to touch,
and he sent his regrets and the music
went flat-
some of the joy left the evening and the songs saddened themselves
and it wasn’t until Tuesday;
safe back at work in the tall tight security of elsewhere,
up the long stairwell with no windows,
that she admitted to the worry
and the relief, and ambivalently watched it rain,
watched a submarine breach like the largest prehistoric
mega whale and gnawed

on something tasteless for lunch.