SATURDAY'S POEM

CHEVROLET
by Chris Creelman

"Maybe that's why you got a divorce
and I'm still married."

I'm teasing my coworker
because he's never performed cunnilingus.

"No! You're just sick."

That's Kevin.

We don't get caught jawing
as much as we could
because he can pick out
the sound of Ike's truck
as it approaches the shop.

He tells me about women he meets at the bars.
There's always something not right;
too old, too young, too direct.
He wants a serious relationship.
He never does anything with them.
Until one day
he mentions Stacy
and how they made out
in the parking lot.

Two weeks later he's callilng her from work,
and afterwards I ask him,

"What if she expects more?"

He smiles.
The other day I'd drawn him a picture
of what to look for.

Ike's considering a new Chevy.
We drop hints about what a good one
he's already got,
and everyday I listen.
But to me it sounds no different
from all the other pickups
in this prairie town.

Chris Creelman, who grew up in rural Massachussets, now lives in Rouses Point, New York, at the intersection of New York, Quebec, and Vermont. He works at the border as an Agriculture Inspector. While living for a while in Zumbro Falls, Minnesota, he and his wife once drove through Minnesota, South Dakota, and North Dakota "mostly off the interstate," and they "still talk of moving to North Dakota." Creelman has a broadside, "Going To War," from Bull Thistle Press.

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A NOTE TO THE POETS OUT THERE
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Comments

[beth]

I like this, Chris, and am glad to finally come across someone who actually lives in Rouse's Point, where I sometimes cross the border. Good luck with your poetry; I bet you see a lot to write about there.