Nasty Conjugation

I was halfway through my caramel macchiato before I remembered the invitation sitting in my satchel bag.

“Oh! Oh, check this out. It came in the mail today,” I said, digging in my bag for the little piece of cardboard. “Shit, where is it…I know I put it in my…ah. Here.”

I passed it to Laura, who held it up and read aloud to the rest of the group seated outside Starbuck’s, enjoying fine Turkish cigarettes with their name-brand coffee and nonconformity.

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“Hey.”

Someone was fucking shaking me.

“Mark, wake up. Wake up, man.”

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A muffled knock on the bedroom door forced Halima up from where she’d been laying in a soggy spot on her pillow. She sniffled up the last of her frump and went to place her ear against the door.

“Who is it?” she peeped, pressing her warmth against the cold wooden door.

A soft, uncertain shuffling started outside the door, as if a nervous little pygmy elephant was anxiously waiting its turn for the bathroom. It finally got itself together enough to respond in its own genteel way.

“Snlurf!”

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John had been sitting on the hilltop for hours now. He may have been lost in deep thought, pondering hefty questions like, “What’s the opposite of grey?” Maybe he was just enjoying the unusually gorgeous sunset that crept across the horizon with rose petals and gentle fire. Either way his mind was somewhere far off, and God was getting impatient. He’d been sitting next to John for over an hour now, waiting for the human to turn, see Him, and freak out like humans liked to do. It was a game he played on off days, but today wasn’t as much fun as usual. The Good Lord was even wearing a pair of humorous glasses with a plastic nose and moustache that made Him look a bit like Groucho Marx. He was starting to get pissy that John wouldn’t at least meet him halfway.

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Adaggio
Deep in my chest is
the song you put there,
but for a moment
I’ll let it out so
it can sing for you.

Allegro
This night sky is our
lover’s bed, boot black
leather darkness and
the pale, tender face
of our chaperone.

Vivace
Hair feathers my back,
stokes me to ember
bloom. Bound and gagged and
alive; here until
we put the stars out.