As all writers have discovered, the stories are out there, waiting. Often they appear before us when we are on the move. Go for a walk or a drive and they simply pop up before us, like figures in a children's book when we turn the page. Where's the story? Where's Waldo? Not hiding too well.

Here's one that popped up last week when I was driving into town. It might have turned into a short story, but I saw it from the beginning as a short poem, a lyrical moment that floated to the ground as lightly as ... but see for yourself. I call it "Still Life with Blonde and MINI Cooper":

Town bound on Beretania,
stopped at a light,
the car ahead a MINI Cooper
cream on bottom, black on top,
I see a young woman’s arm emerge
through the driver’s window
and in the hand a brush
and then the other arm appears
and begins removing blonde hair
from the brush
letting it float
in the light morning air
to the pavement below.

I do not judge
I only observe

The light turns green
the MINI Cooper slowly
slowly begins to roll forward
the driver still removing blonde hair
from the brush
until brush and arms
withdraw inside the car
the blonde’s hands now
at 10 and 2, or wherever,
I can’t tell,
all I see is the morning sunlight
spotlighting her big blonde hair.

I do not judge
I only observe

I pull up closer for a better view
but the blonde goes places I cannot follow
zipping to the far right lane in a flash
near Central Union
then to my middle lane
then over to the left turn lane
as if to turn onto Pensacola
but instead zooming straight ahead
as if her favorite movie is The Italian Job
and she is Charlize Theron
showing off for Mark Wahlberg.

I do not judge
I only observe

At Ward Avenue,
now two blocks ahead of me,
she turns left,
heading makai,
perhaps to drive to Ward Centre,
or into Ward Centre,
past the startled parking valet,
careening through the mall
right into Border’s
then testing her theory
that a MINI Cooper
can indeed fit in the larger aisles
then past the bargain books
circling the fiction
workers left in her wake
then up the stairs
and on into the music
not a single CD disturbed
and then, and then …

I do not judge
I only observe

And admire.

Tags: Charlize Theron, MINI Cooper, poetry

This entry was posted on Saturday, May 8th, 2010 at 7:00 am and is filed under Hawaii poetry, Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.