I sat alone drinking a Margaux, Imperiale
by Joan Pond

I sat alone drinking a Margaux, Imperiale.
At three thousand a bottle,
it was described as a classic red
with vanilla-scented nose.
Having a ripe black fruit,
it held a firm and structured finish.
Along with Toll House Cookies
I emptied the bottle,
noting the ruby-red colour staining the sink.
A good wine to drink with dessert,
especially while listening to Beethoven”s Seventh.
The Allegretto was so memorable,
I wondered;
was it the wine or the cookies?

***

And So I Called A Taxidermist
by Joan Pond

A sudden snow squall as we headed to Maine.
Another weekend of Paul asking,
when are you moving in?
Much silence as snow fell.
Pines appeared
as Crest-coated toothbrushes.
I laughed at the ceiling fan,
circulating mephitic air;
snow shoes on the wall,
and all the things that made
this place extemely, him.
There was no room for me
unless I was mounted to a wall.
And so I called a taxidermist,
asking,
what I should do.

***

Penance
by Joan Pond

I don”t miss your touch,
your house,
or the mouse you caught in your trap.
It was upside down and dead.
A grey puff of head under a wire.
You complained it ate the cheese,
and you”d have to re-load the trap.
It”s tiny pink hands,
as an aborted child holding on
for dear life.
You simply shucked it out the door.
I left shortly, thereafter,
still mobile.
Feeling somewhat trapped,
in this purgatory or hell.
Why couldn”t I tell you,
I felt just like that mouse?

***

Where To Go
by Joan Pond

How many corporate Rest Rooms must I endure?
Questioning myself;
examining a face in the mirror.
Looking forlorn and asking,
what am I doing here?
I washed my hands,
not wanting to return to my cubby hole.
Surrounded by white tile,
I realized
the devil hadn”t taken my soul.
I”d given it willingly to these companies.
Mutatis, mutandis,
going to and fro.
It was a mutual agreement,
yet I”m forlorn;
not knowing where to go.

***