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by Ronald Tobey 


‘Tonal color’.


Hint of bravado

No desperation,

From New York, your call.

Your daring Indie film,

Praise from all.

I knew without knowing

It was not that.


“I’m pregnant.”

I laughed, knowing too

The next news,

“I don’t know who the father is.”


You paused then, waiting for reviews.

“I hope it’s you.”

Her third month. My second life.

In the undulating swales of early spring grass,

I search the pink morning for cows and new-born calves

Not far from summer’s glorious day past

Where I laid your sun-drenched ass

While your shouts drifted in the breeze away.

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