Pachelbel's Canon in D

Pat Kuras

“But I’ve never seen you there,”

people would say

when I told them

I worked at the gay bookstore.

It was because I

worked in the cellar

among the mailbags

and packing table

doing mail order,

domestic and foreign.

It was the Spring and,

after four years with Barb,

we were parting.

Hunched down in the cellar,

I told Skip,

“I don’t think I can

hold it together today.”

And Skip just stayed by me,

calm and steady.

I packed a huge order

for Denmark while

Skip did the UPS

and the radio played

the most tranquil piece,

a few notes repeating

over and over and I knew

Skip knew classical music,

so I asked him

what was the name of it.

He cocked his head

to the radio playing low

and, listening a moment,

he had a tender look

like maybe he could see

some place safe

where we could be.