The Bearer Of...
(by Emily Mills)
Surely there is some seasonal reason for such loss of reason,
hormones clouding the brain due to springtime cycles.
Perhaps I shouldn't see their interlude,
Perhaps I should be loyal to my friend, who's being deceived
by these two so caught up in one another, the expensive coffee they've bought
goes cold with neglect.
But I'm thinking instead how thirsty I am.
Maybe I could sneak in and surreptitiously steal the drink.
They wouldn't notice, so lost in ardent gazes, so self-righteous in their ardor, this strange
game of infidelity.
If I had a dollar, I'd buy my own coffee.
But my pockets are empty, and the scene transfixes me.
I could walk into the middle of their moment, abduct the meaningful glances
and whispered words of undying commitment,
make them my own just long enough to carry
them back to my friend, my cheated friend.
I could offer my unflinching self as a base, something to hold onto
during the ensuing storm of curse words and glass things thrown against walls.
During it all, a rock, yes, me the rock, more sandstone or pumice but
still a rock, like a rock, that constant friend-thing,
your hard-knock Always.
So I haven't moved, nor torn my stare away from them, all sugary sweet forbidden.
And I'm still wanting coffee. I'm still weighing the pros and the conditions of
being the Bearer of Bad News.
or maybe just Long Time Coming News.
May be better this way.
May be best if I say
nothing at all.
But for loyality to you Above All Others, I will do my duty,
and be your stupid old rock when you go off and find another one just like the last,
and I'll be doing this all again sometime soon.
and I'll still be thinking about how thirsty I am
and I'll still be thinking about how empty my pockets are.
So. I'm up, I'm off, mapping out how to tell you
as I wander past their table,
giving them the look of the executioner who's Willing and Able but Just Doing My Job,
and there's nothing they can do but make fumbled quick plans,
plans to avoid the impending collision, but I'm on a mission, I cannot be stopped
or dissuaded. (Unless, perhaps, you offered me that drink of yours?)
-erm 9.27.01