Three New Poems by William J. Gibson

Like an old arrow through my eye

I think of you
                       recover

and turn it into a kid's arrow
with a rubber suction cup tip

place it on my forehead
spit coated to stick and hold
as if I could hold you now

you're in motion somewhere else
colliding and laughing

Two Dreams

she told me about a beach
in Brazil
with black sand
and I dreamed about it
she told me about a beach
in Brazil
with white sand
and I dreamed about that.
she wasn't in the dreams
but the sea
was the colour of
her eyes
her teeth the tiny shells at my feet
wind her hair her voice her sigh

Lines

The waiter left the drinks, her wine and my scotch.
She asked me about a poem of mine.
"you can tell a lot about a person by the clock they have in their room…"

"I read that," she said, "and looked at every clock in my house.
We have all these clocks. It's been bothering me.
What does that say about us."

"I haven't a clue," I said. "It was one of those lines
that shows up unannounced and stays."

She didn't look happy about that answer.
I thought about her husband.
Counted up the clocks in my place.
I wondered how many clocks are too many.
She reached again for her white wine.
Neither one of us looked at our watches.
It had been some time ago that we had agreed
that nothing was going to happen, without saying a word.
But it was still a pleasant hour.
Passing the time.

All rights reserved to William Joseph Gibson.