I wear gloves to my elbows; you wear herringbone trousers.
It starts to snow; the streetlights haven’t switched on yet.
I lack ordinary patience; where’s the towne crier?
You say correction; I say retraction.
The citrus look exacting; they make calm orange pyramids.
Let me buy alstroemeria; you choose the beer.
Wood bundles whiten near the awning; remember our fireplace?
Life takes things away from you; the snow gives way to sleet.
You say umbrella; I say imbroglio.
Tuesday’s best for sleuthing; we pursue the stubborn missing.
When I’m needy, I’m rude; keep an eye down the avenue.
We don’t want to let that taxi go by; we don’t.
All this time yields no evidence; all this time gives no clue.
I say angry; you say ennui.
Let’s kiss when the meter starts; ah, here come the lights.
I’ve forgotten the address; you’ve a claim check in your pocket.
We stocked our coat closet with wood; it was ten, eleven years ago.
Bugs crept out under the door; carried far from earthy homes.
You say step on it; I say no stop.
We don’t know the tune on the radio, and the street’s turned black
Tagged: citrus, going by taxi poem, herringbone trousers, Jeanne Marie Beaumont, Jeanne Marie Beaumont poem, kiss, poetry, taxi, taxi poem