In a tavern where we sat
years ago, we drink beer
once again & talk about
those years which somehow
seem so much better now:
Scott, smug but tired,
a professor, a husband;
Martin still looking for
something he cannot comprehend;
myself, scarred with loneliness,
poetry, alcohol
Somehow a woman joins
our table & we are glad. She
is tall & thin & wears a black
dress
‘I simply love scotch,’
Isadora coos. ‘I love the
people one meets in bars,’
she says. ‘You are very nice
boys,’ she says
‘You’re beautiful,’ Martin says.
She is. It isn’t for a while that
I realize she is really a man
When the bar closes, we charge
drunkenly into the street,
a bit of the old excitement
back & Martin smashes a beer
bottle against the sidewalk.
‘I love Isadora,’ he yells.
& it is Scott who breaks
the news. ‘She is a he,’ he
says
Martin looks down at the broken
bottle. ‘I never should have left
the airforce,’ he says.