for george faludy
part one:when he was in prison
there was no pencil or pen or cigarette
he spoke his poems to his friends
they were his books
he would teach them his poetry
they would commit it to memory
years later
free from the beatings
and in a new land
they came back to him
the faces of his poetry
they remembered every word
part two:
he is reading aloud in hungarian
we have already heard the translation
we know the meaning of the words
the power of his poems
when he is finished reading
he sits back in his chair
and answers the questions
that he knows must come
he is an old man
snow white hair on top of his massive head
once
when conversation had shifted
he looked around for a place to flip the ash from his cigarette
finding none
and making sure that no one was looking
he gently flicked the ash into the breast pocket of his suit coat
part three:
later
his wife will tell him that he should have asked for an ashtray
that he should have interrupted for a moment
and he will say no
they were talking about my poems
the faces were walking about the room
the faces have been good to me
i could not interrupt them
Copyright© michael dennis/Ordinary Press