Ultimatum

Swiping at cobwebs in the garage,
sweeping away winter,
finding the croquet set in the corner
covered with a towel.
He lifts it off, voila`, a magician.
It takes him back, yes, he goes back
to:

A hotel room on a Friday June evening
with a girl
somewhere in the country, he’s not sure,
the end of the line,
and the room has a window facing a lawn
where two younger men whack balls
through hoops,
not following any rules,
cheating

The girl turns to him:
‘Those two have had a few, `
they must be staying the night.’
While he and she are
pressed for time
pressed against each other,
then
all that business of going home:
scoffing peanuts in her car,
wiping salt and guilt off their faces
because there wasn’t time for dinner.
He dashes for the last train,
staying under the street lights for safety
though it was too late for that.

Somebody had to call a halt
or issue an ultimatum.
Dirt needs shifting every year, but that doesn’t mean we do it.
Who bought the vintage croquet set
for a fifth anniversary gift of wood?
Like a private joke —
more durable than paper, cotton, flowers,
just as fun as leather.

Candyce Lange


If you have any thoughts about this poem, Candyce Lange  would be pleased to hear them