Robert VanderMolen


After the Phone Call

She looked nearly the same
But when I hugged her
There was substantially more
To her — no doubt as with me.
She fibbed as I did at the edge
Of curb under the streetlight
As spiders dropped like tiny
Parachutes — they were difficult
To see. On the periphery
Of good luck, I thought,
Revisiting her quirky habits
And expressions, what I eventually
Found so bothersome. Except
When I glanced at my watch
I discovered I was trembling
Like a small-time embezzler.
I see, she said, you must have

An Ether

Past the fountain out of repair
And the boarded diner

A small studio
You’ d never told anyone about

Where old clothes have remained
Right where you’ ve dumped them

Side by side
With random notes and sketches

When someone close to you
Has a different idea of what you represent

He insisted
You’ ll write a check for the loan

There were other misjudgments
As well. Exits were being blocked

Down every hall I walked

Until a sort of muscle memory —
Well, I knew it all along, of course,

At the Pub with the Museum Staff

As if  anyone has the desire   ...
Vickey trailed off, pouring another lager

There'll be nothing left
But fur and bone, as my lawyer once explained

To my ex, she resumed, tapping a long cigarette
On the bar. My, you're a bit snarky tonight

Said Luther. Maybe you need a change of  venue,
A beach with your breath on it

Oh, she replied, nodding towards the far corner booth,
These writers are so obnoxious

I wish they'd find a new place to complain.
Ha, said Hillary, they wouldn't know a good story