Cramped between the pages 23 and 24,
He was quite aware
He harbored feelings of something more.
He tried to reason with the author,
Even told him he would play the engaged protagonist.
He said it in French and shook his wrist.
The author stared,
And then the corners of his mouth formed a grin:
“Being engaged is out of fashion, I am afraid.
Your place is amidst 23 and 24.”
The author had just crossed the T’s and dotted the I’s
And went to drink a beer, get maybe even some pie.
The stranger without a name didn’t wait,
He grabbed his one line on the fly,
Took the ‘c’ for a hat, added more as he hurried out
As fast as his little legs could carry him without a sound.
Surely, there was another novel around.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.