Jamie Doom...

answers his own rhetorical questions.

On Chekhov and Grits

To Whom It May Concern:

Please contact me if you know the whereabouts

of the girl, with the particularly good posture, eating

shrimp and grits here this morning around 3:30 A.M.

I think I love her.

She seemed to be in the exact center of the

restaurant, and I was listening. She was waving her arms

and slicing the air like a conductor

bringing Rhapsody and Blue home--all this while

tightly clutching her coffee cup.

Not a decaf-kind-of-girl, I’m guessing.

And before those at her table raised their oyster shots she

spoke of Anton Chekhov. After he died, his body

was transferred from Berlin to Moscow in a refrigerated

car that had the words “Fresh Oysters” painted on the

sides. And she was laughing a most wonderfully true sound.

She toasted Chekhov, and while she was at

it--Tolstoy, then slurped the oyster down.

And I can’t recall glimpsing such joy over such a silly

fact(But some remember life is a beautiful comedy, and how

can we begrudge them that?).

Meanwhile, the companion at my table was explaining

something of great importance to him, about a car, or his

parole officer, or some interesting looking rash; just before

I cut him off with a large, “Shush.”

And he punched me on the nose.

Then I, eyes watering, went to the

restroom. And when I returned he was

gone and more importantly SHE was gone.

So here I sit, finishing the rest of his cheese omelet, and writing

this rather strange request. Please contact me. I’ll be the one with

a crooked, red nose and the quickly-beating heart just waiting over here.

posted by: jmedoom at September 14, 2005 10:39 | link | comments (2) |
poetry, jamie doom

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