Stepping onto the spray of pebbles making our way onto the grounds I considered to myself And to myself alone This will be a pleasant evening with all parties involved behaving as they should Or something else entirely. Something low. Bellies down.
We gathered before a small card table and made our way unsteadily Weaving up the incline like skiers intertwining down the molehills to the properties. Up is down. Not good.
You moved to the right Sprinkling pleasantries in one direction and into one direction only. Close and physical. Like a sprite always looking up in quiet confidences But a bit too early. I wondered Did the companion notice? Can this companion see the play?
When too many seconds pass And it’s time to head to the right Where I am strolling Disturbingly care free Unattached and No sign of attaching You shakily try a few words Yet offer no enticements for that **** costs It’s expensive So you hoard and bestow sparingly To well considered targets
Knowing this And that there will be no payout My body has told you that much You return back to the companion again and again Softly stepping And considering with your magical archetype-wielding Hustle and shake down. A threadbare con under the moon And blackened sky. I am left alone.
I had looked into your eyes at some point and wondered What are you? Peering deeply. Are you a daemon? I felt badly. To wonder And certainly not for the first time That this extended moment sitting side by side On stools In the Mexican night Was with some kind of creature Not human Not kind A predator You said so yourself With pretty eyes And two harmless old canines.
We sat and waited for the companion Who showed up with a bottle of wine And we sauntered back to your rental The senile dogs entered and retreated immediately into the darkness to face the walls immobile yet somehow agitated A bad sign. Spirits are here. The dogs are aware. You have said that they could be Easily corrupted by being pure souls. By a force that’s bent upon the destruction of All Souls Not just dogs. However if you asked me The devil gets his due.
God that’s funny.
You withdrew to get them sorted In the darkened rooms Especially that dusky mauve poodle A miniature with a frazzled dying coat And questionable eyes Blindness or Defeated?
You and the companion dug into your chicken Ravenous and American style. I, horrified, ate a bland soup of corn
Out came notes and pens and post-its And the data was exchanged across the central kitchen prep-table with the white quartz top. You paused and turned to your right Facing me and my spoon And speaking under your breath to your shoulder Confirming with your angels and channeling guides That the real estate numbers looked good, In what wasn’t any language that I’m familiar with, But they validated your inquiry As they should And perhaps you scribbled a notation Or a mathematical calculation Perhaps not
The companion saw none of this Apparently hearing no little squawks or soft babble Too busy grinding into her meal and her resentment. This is not going well at all. My soup is bad My company is bad I must change this immediately.
But The companion has a word for me Instead You are too nice You have made yourself too available You will get hurt by bad people in this town You with that sweet smile Warm hands huggable shoulders kissable face and laughing eyes and all those euros in your Change purse! They will mean you harm. I know about these things.
I chose not mention the man that drew my portrait that day Although it did look like a rock And yes the one that arrived at our lunch unannounced and uninvited That did not go over well either.
But you You have your daemon You are safe And protected And loved Touching fingers And make offerings at her altar by way of undeveloped but prime real estate Giving the devil her due.