The essence of decadence

A young, bearded man
sitting on a stool
behind a cardboard box, covered with a cloth
typing on an old, black typewriter
in candlelight.

On a sign, the handwritten words:

Free Poems
Poemas Gratis

On the cardboard box, covered with the cloth, in front of the black typewriter                   you notice little triangles of folded up yellowing paper (the only thing I’m still wondering where he got). You wait a few seconds, survey the area, approach the man and say

Puedo?

reaching for a triangle, looking him in the eyes.

Claro

is his smiling answer.
Your lips move into a replying half-smile, you take the triangle and move away. Unfolding the paper you try and remember how it was folded (and promptly forget) then read the few lines.

You read it again. Something inside you shifts. You read it a third time. You turn, to glance at the bearded man, but he is intently typing and does not look up.

You put the paper in your pocket (not triangled, but folded haphazardly) and walk home, warming it with your hand. As you do, you wonder why you haven’t read poetry in such a long time. What happened? When did you stop? And why? Because now suddenly you feel as if you need more, you need to dig up all those “Feuilles Mortes” and Rumis, Pessoas and Keats and dive into their words so perfectly strung together and sigh as you realize that yes, you actually do like poetry. And isn’t it a wonderful thing.

Advertisements

3 Comments on “The essence of decadence

  1. Pingback: Tulip Tuesday – decadent | Full Of Daisies

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: