Poetry came a distant second. As Preston became obsessed with his work, she grew scared of him, especially when he descended the creaky stairs to thei... second floor bedroom and made love to her, as though she were some depersonalized vessel for him to spread his seed, only to wander upstairs a few minutes afterwards and start the same painful cycle all over again, stabbing at the same emptiness while leaving her alone and without a clue on how to end it. She figured poetry turned him into a. ’ ‘Good for you… reckon I should’ve done the same. I suppose I’m too late for me now.’ Joan took the catalogue from me, looked at the cheque in the light of the porch and then handed me a brown paper bag with something in it. ‘Wind’s getting up.’ I said. ‘Did she say when she’d be back?’ ‘No. Did you need to see her then?’ ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Again there was a period of silence where we just stood looking at each other. It was as if neither of us actually wanted to be the one to say goodbye.. More

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