Well, the 'you' is fine, the story fun, Bill. And tall (or sort) tale it is.
I sit up & read, occasionally drift off, & listen to jazz & classics the whole way....
Doug
On 2013-06-05, at 4:30 AM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> I'm a prosey sort of poet I suppose, Pat. It was an incident that I felt compelled to commit to paper nonetheless.
>
> Cheers,
> Bill
>
> On 05/06/2013, at 5:43 PM, Patrick McManus <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>> Hi Bill it seems to read to me as prose???sort of rambly -but what do I
>> know!!cheers P
>> Needs tightening /edit?? Over and out
>>
>> -----Original Message-----
>> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
>> Behalf Of Bill Wootton
>> Sent: 04 June 2013 23:56
>> To: [log in to unmask]
>> Subject: Some advice sought on Sleepstaking snap
>>
>> Some advice sought:
>>
>> 1. How's the structure?
>> 2. Is erratic line length a bother?
>> 3. Can I get away with using second person? (or do I just overuse you
>> instead of I, Doug?)
>> 4. Should I excise my wife?
>> 5. Anything else?
>>
>>
>> Sleepstaking on high
>>
>> Here's how it can pan out if you
>> go head to head with a blonde.
>>
>> Looks like you've lucked in.
>> En route from Zurich to Singapore,
>> you and your wife score two connecting window seats
>> but right opposite in the aisle, there they are:
>> FOUR consecutive aisle seats, vacant.
>>
>> 1. Pre-game manoeuevres
>>
>> On your last trip, you'd been diddled. You can't make a move
>> until the seatbelt sign goes off, your wife said.
>> But someone did.
>> And the prime four were snatched up
>> and stretched out upon, before you could raise a gaze.
>> This time, you move early,
>> click your seatbelt on in seat one in the aisle possy.
>> Just as well. Hovering to descend, from behind,
>> a claiming cardigan ready to drop over the top.
>> Your bum hits first. The hand withdraws.
>> Set.
>> But you can't lie down and spread out on all four seats yet,
>> even when the seatbelt sign flicks off -
>> cabin lights are still on; there'll be a meal to withstand first.
>>
>> 2. Game on
>>
>> But before your tray is cleared,
>> SHE is there.
>> A twenty, perhaps thirty-something blonde
>> at the other aisle end of your virgin four,
>> flicking through a Cosmopolitan.
>> Your eyes meet briefly.
>> Neither side acknowledges or withdraws.
>> After tray clear, you look left again and she's down.
>> Upped the middle arm rest and her neat golden curls
>> rest on two pillows up against the middle armrest.
>> You're halved. Quadruple empire reduced to a paltry double.
>> You consider proposing a parlay:
>> Fair do's. With ten hours ahead,
>> you could offer to return to your legit seat
>> and she have the first five hours fully stretched,
>> You'll take the second watch, you could say.
>> But your wife will have none of it.
>> She's liking her twin paradise.
>> So you enter the field of fray.
>> Head to the other side of the middle armrest
>> on your own double pillow stack and curl up
>> so your feet do not to the aisle protrude.
>>
>> You last five minutes.
>> Ridiculously uncomfortable,
>> you spring up and consider new options.
>> If you lean back and splay your legs obliquely
>> you are clearly occupying space and it is less constricting.
>> Just so you are both aware however, you plonk
>> your shoulder bag and undone crossword
>> on the seat adjacent to you. No territory conceded.
>> Then the skewiff position becomes untenable
>> so you straighten up in your aisle row seat
>> but casually add your headphones to seat two
>> after watching a French film about a street fighter
>> who gets the tripe beaten out of him and his girl
>> who loses her lower legs to a killer whale.
>> Trifles.
>> Your head turns only to see that
>> a surreptitious move has been made.
>> The seat divider is up and yes,
>> there is definitely head creep
>> over the mid-line. But it's subtle:
>> none of your deposits have been touched.
>> A bird's eye would show she now occupies nearly two-thirds.
>> You effect a bit of side splay again so one leg stretches straight ahead;
>> the other slightly bent under the adjacent seat.
>> Then you drift off, desultorily.
>>
>> 3. End game
>>
>> After what can only be minutes
>> you awaken and glance left.
>> She's gone. Nothing
>> but stacked blankets
>> and idle pillows.
>> Your chance.
>> You stretch out fully
>> occupying the full four seats.
>> It is only just bearable.
>> Your shoulder is scrunched,
>> the seat belts bite into your side
>> and the seat dividers don't flatten fully.
>> Still, you fit.
>> Until the cabin lights come blaring on.
>> Breakfast time.
>>
>> Unpacking your hand luggage from the overhead cabins,
>> you snatch a glance across the Rubicon aisle seats.
>> She's already collected her hand luggage
>> and is waiting on her side to disembark,
>> hair wisps perky,
>> radiating refreshment.
>> With nary a backward glance,
>> the wordless encountress leaves you in her blonde wake.
>>
>
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/
http://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
Latest books:
Continuations & Continuations 2 (with Sheila E Murphy)
http://www.uap.ualberta.ca/UAP.asp?LID=41&bookID=962
Recording Dates
(Rubicon Press)
You know, verse
is a lovely thing.
It issues,
like the vapors,
from the rock
Charles Olson
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