For many years, until they changed the closing time, my wife and I could be found most Sunday afternoons at the YMCA in out suburb of St. Louis. I had a routine – start with cardio like the treadmill or stationary bike and find in the Cybex machine room. There was a fairly regular crowd there each Sunday, working out from about 5 to 6 p.m. One of those regulars was an older man, about six-foot-five. We knew him as Paul.
My wife started chatting with him first. And then he spoke to me one Sunday, saying he’d heard I was from New Orleans. He had relatives there, too, even though he was from St. Louis. We’d talk while on the Cybex machines, and he didn’t say much about his own life, other than he liked poetry as much as I did and he loved to visit New Orleans.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.
Some Tuesday Readings
The same – poem by Sonja Benskin Mesher.
The Poem That Outlived the Holocaust – Douglas Century a The Free Press.
“Comin thro’ the rye,” poem by Robert Burns – Joseph Bottum at Poems Ancient and Modern.
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