Untitled 3 by William C. Blome

The woman I know more about than anyone on this train does
slowly sidles down the aisle and passes me on her right,
passes me on her way back to the little yellow circus
tented in the baggage car. I’m finding myself questioning
just what in the world her interest in the circus might be,
because winning knife fights has heretofore been a peak area
of expertise and achievement for her, and with the remote
exceptions of the little big-top’s knife thrower
and/or some bizarro juggler, it’s going to take awhile for me
to puzzle out any other link she could possibly have
to the circus (and a small, urine-colored one at that).
See, I know this woman; I helped her jet blocks away
from the scene of a crime several months ago
after she’d sliced my wife to ribbons. I grudgingly confess
that many’s the time she’s been my go-to person
for things yellow and alive; for example, I order bananas
and forsythia cuttings off her, and yes, I’ve warmed my head
beneath her golden shower on more than one occasion,
so just do not tell me I don’t know squat about this sweetheart
of the rails. Why, I’ll even hazard the intelligent guess
she’s the ringmaster now presiding in the rear.

William C. Blome writes poetry and short fiction. He lives wedged between Baltimore and Washington, DC, and he is a master’s degree graduate of the Johns Hopkins University Writing Seminars. His work has previously seen the light of day in such wondrous places as In Between Hangovers, Poetry London, PRISM International, Fiction Southeast, Phenomenal Literature, and The California Quarterly.