By now, I have remembered that I have an appointment
with Edward, and have decided that sitting in the grass
underneath this beautiful oak is not getting me there,
long chain of clusters of action verbs notwithstanding.
I wiggle my toes a bit more in the grass and replace
socks and sneakers onto my feet. I hop up and begin
the rest of my trek to the train stop. And, realizing
how exceedingly late that I am, I resign to the fact
that my dear friend Edward will by now have
given up on me. Taking note of the ease with
which I get sidetracked, I’m beginning to
understand the romance that writers
develop with their various fictions.
Already Edward is venturing away
from reality and drifting into
the fantastical universe
that I have created.
