Gas-Capped Conversation


Everything admired long enough, resonates. All the sounds in the room meld into one’s soul, where nothing is definable.

Your sacred corner, where you sit upon a hand-hewn chair, is not large enough to hold our thoughts. So move outwards, toward the center. Take a seat at the prepared table. Remove your gas cap and let me pour you a drink.

So what is a nice girl like me hanging around a world full of ego? I am not criticizing you as much as I am myself. For thinking I can make it in a criminal world, ready to strip me of whatever modesty I own.

See, I don’t frequent cheap motels and I never get in a bed made-up with dirty sheets. Indeed, a humble heart can make room, to listen to others complain about their cloudy skies and lack of desert bloom.

The drink? Is it acceptable? My conversation reprehensible? Sit. Relax a while. I refuse to take prisoners but I like to entertain. Your thoughts are as good as mine. Most likely better. And I never complain.

I like to think my words rhyme with the time of day and I never quarrel over pennies. May I mention you take to the road before I bore you. I will say a prayer as you leave. I will watch as the sun sets and the moon grows high.

I soon remember the day as all the others. With reverence, I recall your name.

 

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