the fenced in vacant lot adjacent to the community parking square is still blanketed with snow, two week old snow, unlike everywhere else, that is not mucky or slimy.
at the end of the lot is a single storey shack that is inhabited, according to one of the nosier parking attendants, by a recluse retired racing car mechanic.
a single set of footsteps, a streamlet of deep imprints, from the door of the shack to the crudely improvised gate at the other end of the interlink fence, sullied the immaculate spread of the snow. this was days ago.
today, two markedly different sets of footfalls, one familiarly heavy, the other, fresh and decidedly delicate, bloomed in the snow like paw prints left by mating mountain cougars.
today, too, on the bus, a gruff bear of a man in linty pea coat deliberately rubbed his right leg against my left. appalled at his audacity, I just froze. he rewarded my submission with his smile, lips puckered, his stubbles bristled under his chin.
there's a henry mancini song that mama used to play over and over whenever any of her past boyfriends did her wrong. and she, a sixteen year old girl all over again, sat by the record player, rapt, as if listening to a spiritual ready to revive her flagging faith.
there are times I do worry about myself, still unlettered in the necessity of proximity.
moon river, wider than a mile. I'm crossing you in style, someday.
mama did. and so did the recluse, apparently. while I, still drifting off to see this gelid world alone and never waiting round the bend for someone ready to rub me the right way.