Continuing the theme of strange coincidences
That aren’t actually coincidences,
I was walking in the park later that day
With my friend from college.
There is a thing that happens
When people ask me about the book
I am writing.
This thing annoys me,
But only because I cannot control
Myself, and I hate being out of control.
I begin to spout my whole story,
Themes, characters, plot outlines,
Names, places, action,
Anything that pops into my head.
For some reason, people still seem interested
But it vexes me to no end.
I wish to be mysterious,
To reveal just enough about my project
To interest a stranger,
Then leave them thirsty for more.
Instead I spray them with a fire hose.
My friend was still interested,
But my sister really had to pee.
So we found a bathroom,
Which, by the way, are difficult
To find in Central Park.
We sat on the ground while we waited
And a man walked by with an adorable
Dachshund in a pink sweater.
Well, the dog walked past first,
Followed by the man.
As we pet the dog, the man immediately
Began to spout the most random story
About his daughter. My friend and I had spoken
A greeting and nothing else,
When he recounted details
Of how his daughter wrote all the time
And never could seem to get a break,
When suddenly a major publisher discovered
Her talent and now she was selling her works.
Not two minutes before the pink-clad dachshund had
Approached us, I had been lamenting to my friend
That I didn’t have much hope in becoming successful
At my passion as far as making it into a career.
After his story, the man wished us a nice day,
And promptly walked away.
After that, I had a little more hope,
In spite of my procrastination,
In spite of my quirkiness,
In spite of my heartbreak and lack
Of motivation, I had a little bit of hope.