Meeting again like this at a beat is, to say the least, unexpected —
we’re tripping over ourselves to catch up. We look the same,
our shared lack of embarrassment equates to a kind of twin-ship.
Only our heights effect a separation. Our imperfect Janus-head
turned from the fortress’ gates establishes as fact our resistance
to attack. Not having warred for the best part of a decade — we’ve
lost the facility to war. The only gun in our arsenal an unerring
sense of fashion. How is it possible we’ve dressed for the occasion?
The plaid nostalgia of my suit, the faux stance of your designer fatigues,
even my glasses, tinted rose pink, seem to say peace. Possums grip
the lip of a bin’s smacked gob, pull from detritus the composed core
of an apple. We ask the easy questions first — work, study — each
ascended path achieving the same kudos lit plain. Tourists lag
scorched offerings in hand. Shadows do emerge, but not ours,
we cannot be coerced — our branches teeming. We maintain
a distance whispering. Our talk indiscreet here, everything
but sex. Incidentally, that’s how we began.
Terry Jaensch is the author of three books of poetry: Buoy (Five Islands Press), Excess Baggage & Claim co-authored with Singaporean poet Cyril Wong (Transit Lounge Publishing) and Shark (Transit Lounge Publishing).