down a slippery slope

It is on my way home, I pass unexpectedly someone on the street and 

so I drop my eyes and don’t look up. i find I don’t trust who is out there, the nails in the coffin….et tu Brute….but as I feel my eyes streaming down my face I look up at the man as he sees me and ….he is kind looking and looks upon me with thst all saying sympathy;my tears streaming down my face….his kind eyes with silent words that spoke of what he seemed aware this loss, as any of my gender and his all knowing expression, was like a kind father ….even though he was too young to be mine —it should have shocked me to realize I could have warranted such a response from a stranger as he looked at me ….and would  otherwise have touched me; moved me; maybe? if I were not so chagrined (but I was not tonight;tonight I was just too deep in the terror)would have given me hope that there are still those left but….todsy his overt expression only ….touched me like …. a face in a crowded train …. going the other way 

so I kept walking 

i wasn’t numb 

am not numb 

no.just spent 

the circus is about to begin

mark the nearest exit sign

 

let open to drop like 

into the allegorical canal 

those passages that once connected 

   us 

         you do not care,

 you were never there 

    your words upon my wall were never there at all

our conversations of forgotten dreams

a dimension has left the conversation 

that is the one I miss 

perhaps I saw what was never there 

Side street mystery; Post haste

It is at the post office where Pierre Reaux bumps into Faun

He looks awkward when all his papers go flying. Faun run to help him and when she gathers his papers he begrudgingly smiles. He wears a black hst. Somewhat fedora you might say, but on him it becomes another article entirely. 

Awkwardly he says,

“we might have got off to a bad start, Miss—Mizzz—“

“Just Faun is fine,” she coolly asserts the papers under his coat covered armpit like a friendly jab, “there you are, all sorted.”

She starts to step away but he follows her,

“excuse me—Mzz—Faun, madamme— I just wondered if I could talk to you for just one moment of your time?”

Faun paused just a step to look at him but continued to the yellow Volvo anyway, 

“Is there something you want, Monsieur Reaux?”

“Well….as you know my jurisdiction is only as far as the Canadian border—“

“Yet we find you here so frequently,” Faun stopped to smile now 

“Yes well…. You have the Sam’s Club and the Walmart….” he scratches his jaw thoughtfully as he tries to seem casual 

“You come here to shop at Walmart?” she looks at how he is dressed. Three piece suit and that trench coat was far from Columbo 

He is inspecting his nails as he smiles looking back up at her,

“not me, Mz Faun—but most of the characters I must investigate do tend to frequent such places.”

He says all this with his heavy French Canadian accent whilst twisting his mustache absently 

“So how can I help you today?” she asks now 

“You are still running the bookshop for the Bishops?”

She waits a moment to reply. She looks at his expression to read him. 

“I am. The chief of police over there could have told you whatever you’d like to know,” she watched his face.

“Have you remained in contact with Monsieur Grant?”

Faun sensed it was about him somehow 

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it seems he may need your help.”

the Side Street Mystery

thoughts of return?

et ainsi, un autre automne que nous ne rencontrerons jamais.