J. AUJLA

Small Talk

All around the table, there were empty glasses,

cats and other forms of life moved within the room.

Most were imperceptible.

Very slight, gradual or subtle.

Something not capable of being perceived.

The board game made the dictionary

some measure of exchange.

Outside taking air, the painter had explained:

I do not believe in plain speaking. There I see

coffee and silverfish.

The man with her looked to the sky:

Where I’m from we call it night.

Peacocks lined the dinner plates. Candles lit the way

and words were simple objects in that orderly display.

Someone broke the silence:

Perhaps it’s hearsay

but Sam Beckett drove a young André

(the wrestling giant)

to school each day.

I wonder what they spoke about?

The guests went on breathing

the same air as their hosts

passing through their open throats.

K–Aujla is a writer with no fixed address, bad teeth and a song for anyone who can sing.

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