Saturday's Storyteller: " 'She's...a haiku.' 'Poetic?' 'Short.' "

by Belinda Roddie

"She's...a haiku."

"Poetic?"

"Short."

"Get out of here."

"No, really. Like, five-seven-five? No, like, five foot seven minus five."

"So she's five foot two?"

"Yeah."

"That's not so bad."

"It is when you're a super haiku."

"A super haiku?"

"Yeah. 6-7-2."

"Uh-huh."

"Six foot seven plus two."

I laughed. Gerald was definitely tall, the tallest guy in the entire town. When he walked into a room, especially while he was wearing his cowboy hat, everyone looked at him. One time, when he entered a restaurant, the piano player stopped in the middle of his sonata just to stare. A six foot nine guy can do that. Even to the professionals.

We were sitting at the corner of the bar. Always the corner. Because if we didn't, Gerald would be blocking someone who wanted to watch the baseball game. I sipped at my whiskey on the rocks, pulling at the bent collar of my leather jacket before looking at him.

"Maybe I'll take that little haiku on a date."

"What? You?" Gerald sneered, showing his crooked teeth. "No way."

"Yeah, way."

"What if she's only into dudes?"

"Who knows." I shrugged. "She could like girls, too."

"So what are you, then?" asked Gerald.

"I dunno. A villanelle?"

"A villanelle?"

"You know...too many words and waaaay too repetitive."

Gerald laughed before gargling some more beer. "Stick to the types of poems I know," he advised me. "I've never read a villanelle."

"Fine, then. I'm a limerick?"

"Oh, yeah?"

I began. "There once was a babe from Ignacio..."

"...who wanted to buy a nice palacio?"

"Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself."

We clinked glasses and drank, my eyes settling on a girl at the other end of the bar, looking right at me. Forget haiku. She looked like a straight up Shakespearean sonnet.

This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.