Knute Skinner: Three Poems

An Interesting Cover

There were two wrought-iron chairs in the park—

more or less in the middle of the park.

I sat down on one, pretending to be absorbed

in the book I held in my hands.

I was only looking at the pages.

I was only looking at the pages,

but when a jogger paused,

just long enough to ask me about the book,

I gave it inordinate praise,

and I held it up for her view.

Yes, I gave that book inordinate praise,

although—if I speak the truth—

the book was not even mine.

I had picked it up from a bulging basket of cut-rates

in front of a nearby shop.

It did have an interesting cover.

Yes, it did have an interesting cover,

but the pages inside?

Well, each page looked very much

the same as another.

I opened the book to show her the title page.

And what did that woman do?

Oh, that woman waited a well-timed minute

before she sat down on the second wrought-iron chair.

She sat on the very edge of that chair

as if she was not at all…