Theories of the Novel

On the water, in the tiny boat hired for next to nothing,
Chloe Rook read her lover’s palm. A sparrow signed the sky.

Only three days since the swordfish dinner, the wine,
yet candlelight resembled the last heartbeats of the blind.

The turn in the county road. The condo with its three
tin-colored keys. A chair facing the sun. Oranges in a bowl.

The lineman suicidal. The plumber wearing down her knees.
More heartache than we need, really, all around like bad lovers.

No one cared about Leticia’s sick little boy. No one cared about
Matty Cruz’s failing bistro in the failing core of Old Town.

The man we knew to be the secret lover all along
snapped a ski, veering left over an ice edge to his death.

We were left with ourselves, then the writer introduced himself.
He took off his jacket and, too late, tried to seduce us.