(Photo by Laura Baker)

One day I discovered that Clementine had brought a friend to my shower stall.  Slightly smaller but of the same species, he hung in a corner not farm from Clementine’s habitual hangout.  I called him Boris, partly because I didn’t like him.  The name Boris morphed on my tongue into “boorish.”  I felt unabashedly jealous of this usurper, this intruder upon what I had naively assumed was the exclusivity of my relationship with Clementine.  I wanted Boris gone, but needed to be polite for Clementine’s sake.  All this was tongue in cheek, of course, but made for fun imagining, and a poem, during a melancholy time.  Boris didn’t stay long.  Perhaps Clementine ate him.  That suited me.

CLEMENTINE BRINGS A FRIEND

So, Clementine—
you have brought a friend—
And you are . . .
Boris?
Bo’-ris.
(You’re rather small.)
Of course, you can
visit for awhile.
Is there anything I can get
you, Bo’-ris?
Curds and whey? Well,
I’ll certainly see what I can do.
Won’t you
make yourself comfortable,
Bo’ris?
(Um, Clementine . . . )