They Were Children Together

They Were Children Together
I remember her white poet shirt and clean clear face.

She is on stage at the Mansion House, a St. Catharines bar:

Songs she wrote and songs learned from the radio

Brag of coarse and earthy evenings.

She sang, “…when I’m drunk I’m a nihilist…”
She jokes that her life is a documentary limerick.

She has two children.

She’s the eager daughter of rich peasants.

Impulse, defiance, insults, she defends as truth and a joke.
“I’m going to tell him you’re his father,”

She said to her best friend while I listened.

“You don’t have to pay.

 I told my parents you’re the father”

And while he cried she said:

“You could make everything all right for me.”

Paul Anthony Hutchinson

http://www.paulanthonyhutchinson.com

copyright Paul Anthony Hutchinson
(this poem was published May 2002 in Shadow Voices)

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