Art and poetry on page and stage



Ron Kolm

Bad Timing

I turn off the lights
In my friend’s apartment
And watch you play
With your laptop
In the darkness.
Your face is bathed
In a greenish glow
Like a bombardier
Looking for targets below.

I know your mind
Is somewhere else --
That becomes
Abundantly clear
When you gently brush
My hand away as I try
To touch your breast.
“This is not a good
Time,” you say, sliding
Off the sofa, returning
To your work.