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The Man Who Speaks in Poems

Wednesday February 3, 2010

Write a prose story about a man who speaks only in poems.

Jenny was trying to sleep, but his words kept running through her mind.  That’s what rhyming will do for you.  Keep you humming  ridiculous tunes even what you wanted was to finally get some rest.  No wonder marketing people were so well paid.  They had the good stuff.  They had what worked.  Not like her.  She seemed to have only what didn’t work.

She rolled to her left side hoping that the movement would jostle his words out of her.  She wasn’t even sure what the words actually were; it was the rhythm that hung around.  The sound of his voice in the line behind her.  She’d never liked poetry, but his words brought a kind of magic to the morning.  Every day it was the same.  Whether she arrived at 7:40 or 7:54, the Poet was always behind her.

She had started thinking of him that way, as the Poet.  In her more honest moments she might say that he felt like she knew him.  She guessed that was what happened to women like her.  Women in soul crushing jobs living with decent boyfriends who displayed no potential for moving into the realm of soul mate.  They spent their nights fantasizing about men they saw in coffee shops.  What else could she expect?

Pulling her leg out from under Adam’s sleepy foot, Jenny crept out of bed.  It was easier to be awake than it was to keep trying to sleep with the Poet whispering in her ear.  Certainly less frustrating.  In the kitchen she found the blue butterfly mug that was her favorite, filled it with water and gave it a minute in the microwave.  With the tea bag floating in the mug and the warmth of peppermint  on her face, her mind began to loosen its grip.  She could still hear his voice as she settled into the couch, but she didn’t fight it.  Sure, she was an unmarried woman pushing 30 who couldn’t sleep for thinking about a man she didn’t even know; a man who speaks in poems.  The clock read 4:30.  Only three more hours.

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