Crusoe -- George Bilgere

(Poem #135)Crusoe When you've been away from it long enough, You begin to forget the country Of couples, with all its strange customs And mysterious ways. Those two Over there, for instance: late thirties, Attractive and well-dressed, reading At the table, drinking some complicated Coffee drink. They haven't spoken Or even looked at each other in thirty minutes, But the big toe of her right foot, naked In its sandal, sometimes grazes The naked ankle bone of his left foot, The faintest signal, a line thrown Between two vessels as they cruise Through this hour, this vacation, this life, Through the thick novels they're reading, Her toe saying to his ankle, Here's to the whole improbable story Of our meeting, of our life together And the oceanic richness Of our mingled narrative With its complex past, with its hurts And secret jokes, its dark closets And delightful sexual quirks, Its occasional doldrums, its vast  Future we have already peopled  With children. How safe we are Compared to that man sitting across the room, Marooned with his drink And yellow notebook, trying to write A way off his little island. -- George Bilgere