Tryst Poetry by Robert Klein Engler

...The First Time in the History of the World that an Old Queen is Disappointed

She waits the way wheels in the scrap yard wait to rust. The abandoned absorb time, and live in the ashland of excuse. He could meet me at the end of long rails that stretch to the horizon of a barbaric land, she thinks. There is juice for our bones and a rose for our flesh. But he forgets the date, and by forgetting, her world in the sky turns its eyes into a Bedouin veil. Young men simply swell with the milk of arrogance. There is always a horizon of light to call them away. "Let me collect shadows now," she sighs. "I will wear jewels. They will see emeralds before they see my wrinkles."  She blots her moist lashes with the soft touch of paws on moss. Only his coming here knocks the desert to bloom. Only his coming here knocks the desert to bloom. But don't you worry, she'll keep writing, and won't step out from any windows.


2002 Robert Klein Engler

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