By Philip Wexler
After lunch, the weather newly calm,
he slides the glass doors partly open
like lips still hesitant to speak.
She takes her customary seat opposite
with the half-finished shawl and knitting
needles sitting idly on her lap, radio news
and weather in the background. Not ready
for conversation, he retreats to putter
in the garden out back, returns an hour later.
She is unmoved. The opening between
the doors inhales, exhales. Intermittent
breezes twist and billow the sheer
gray drapery. He pours himself a glass
of red wine and sits in a chair alongside her.
Outside, the terrace looms over a stony beach
and too blue sea, dotted with cousin islands
of cliffs, peninsulas, seabirds, cypress forests.
Pointlessly, he attempts eye contact.
The leaves of the potted umbrella palms jitter
in the wind. She declines to take a stroll
with him down by the water because,
“Another disturbance is pulling in,”
yet insists they leave the doors open
for “air and drama.” He finishes
his third glass of wine. A gust blows
the knitting to the floor, and the hem
of her skirt up her thighs. She doesn’t rearrange.
He gets up, restless. She says he is preoccupied.
“Nonsense,” he fumes, and removes
to the terrace to watch the roiling sky
and hate her in private. Storms
are not uncommon in these parts.
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Philip Wexler has had over 210 of his poems published in literary magazines. His full-length poetry collections include The Sad Parade (prose poems), and The Burning Moustache, both published by Adelaide Books, The Lesser Light (Finishing Line Press), With Something Like Hope (Silver Bow Publishing) and I Would be the Purple (Kelsay Books). Bozo’s Obstacle is scheduled for release later in 2024 by In Case of Emergency Press. He also hosts Words out Loud, a monthly spoken word series in the Washington, DC area.