Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Windows and Telephone Lines

When she came
in her long brown dress
I thought, “yes.”
Gold dripped from her ears
and feet
as if she were some winged Mercury
who had just stepped inside my house.
She was pleasant enough,
but revealed nothing,
She kept her thoughts close to her vest
like a skilled poker player.
If she were in Vegas, I wouldn’t know if she were holding
Queens or Threes.
I wouldn’t know if she had a straight flush or a hand that should be flushed
down the toilet.
I watched her walk up and down the halls,
eager to tell her about neighbors or schools or my favorite things,
like some kind of crazed Julie Andrews,
but instead I didn’t say a word.
When she returned to where we were standing,
the only questions she asked were about windows and telephone lines.
Cryptic.
Uneventful.
Then she got into the black car of the white-haired man and disappeared,
leaving me with no more knowledge
than I had before she arrived.