The Line

It wasn't always a clever line.

How many hours did I polish it with beer?
How many faces did I come across
before I landed, there, before you
ready to recite?

Oh yeah, this was a line
I'd been working on for weeks
in front of mirrors, on the subway,
lying on the beach.

So when I arrived, blown in by direction
and two feet in front of another,
precariously, I arrived knowing
every line back and forth, upside down,
to and fro, left to right and right to left.

And you were already painted,
ready for war, blood on the lips,
expectant, one leg crossed over another,
toying with the straw in your drink.

I've got a line alright. Clever it is.

Just wait and see.