Steamfinder

Backlit by gaslight she vanishes

Around the corner into the fog

I calibrate gears and dials on my forearm finder

Adjust the setting to mysterious and flip the brass toggle

I’m rewarded with whirs and clicks

Clockwork hands spin wildly

Much like my heart did a few moments earlier

When she came into the bistro, looked briefly around

And then left, abruptly, without a sound

Now the finder points the way

Into crooked alleys and unmarked lanes

Where I see no winsome beauty in high buttoned boots

But I smell a faint trace of her scent in the damp air

I hasten forward

As I turn a corner I see her

Ascending a rope ladder into an airship

A hand reaches out and pulls her in

The ship shudders, swivels and moves ahead

Picking up steam

So I flip the switch and walk away

Beguiled

 

 

David Trudel  © 2013

 

 

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