Going Somewhere

He was annoyed with himself—

That little catch in his spirit.

Ten-speed roaring past,

And his foot slipped off the pedal

Right there, and she saw it.

He coasted a minute,

Got himself re-situated,

And turned to see if she’d seen him err.

She had.

She smiled,

Watering her geraniums.

But it was he that should be sorry for her!

He was the whole one, he, the intelligent,

He, who was going somewhere.

There she sat in her own little puddle—

A yonic pool of nothing flat,

But she drew his orbit

Like the curve of space,

Like bees to the brim of her flowered hat.

-jenn long