highway #1

somewhere between midnight
and Calgary
the fat lady in the seat beside me
clears her throat and asks
that I read her poem
out loud.

except that she calls it
a rhyme.

it’s raining
yet not even
the moisture
nor the iambic windshield wipers
can save
the fat lady’s
rhyme.

first of all
I apologize for the rain
and for buses
and for Alberta.

finally I say --
enjoyed your poem and my
it’s been a long day.

reaching to shut off the light
I notice the tear
sliding down the aisle of her face.

after a few more miles
when she thinks I am asleep
I hear her.

            It’s not the poem...
            She whispers.

            It’s the phone never ringing
              And the echoes of my bedroom.
                  It’s Christmas
                      And lights
                        And sunsets
                                Never mine.                               .