When I Learn Spanish

Oh my: the girl in the Spanish-language section of the local library drops the jaw. I sit in tattered jeans and wrinkles and my ears warm with this knowledge she’s the type to make you notice your own failure in existing as you do though not on purpose she’s not looking down her nose she’s just perusing the selections there’s no haughtiness and maybe even a sparkling of the eye in that unconsciously radiant smile which she is wearing so demurely underneath her sweeping bangs that style of haircut which I’m sure has got a name I can’t remember or more likely never learned
she must know I’m watching the shoulders brown and well-defined while she moves among los libros for a moment, then walks out. I go back to reading Bronte thinking of the poem I’d like someday to write about that girl when I learn Spanish

John A Maloney studied English at the University of Iowa and that is why he is able to talk it so good. Sometimes he writes things down if they seem interesting, mostly he forgets to. Feel free to buy him a turntable or some whiskey.