I awake with a flush of images from a dream
& wanting to remember them this time
I record them in a bedside notebook:
“midget on last trip to the north
crooner of black romantic love songs
reunited with high school sweet heart
there is a dispute over the kids
2x2 minus 1 nobody really wants”
we wake to the sound of a neighbouring
bed thumping
& the staccato
wailing/ moaning of a woman
(notice the sexual referencing)
Yet staring out the window on Lake Ontario
Toronto– a stunted matchstick in the distance
the wavering truth spurts. My sister has
placed her waterfront up for sale
her partner has found love on the internet
an accidental opening of e-mail
a feigned trip away with girlfriends
her prey snared–
who the fuck are you bitch?
The leaves flickering like cold green hands
*
The sky is grey
we are leaving tomorrow for Nova Scotia
I suppose I should describe the lake in a
discerning, discrete way
but I can’t–
A Canadian goose in the bushes nearby
is honking as if it is taking it up the ass
(that’s more like it)
I wonder about the unwanted child
I wonder about the midget
and his non-existent custodial dispute
I wonder about the way the fog and the rain around here can mean death
I wonder about the electronic search for love–
Yet we have never been as close as today