The Edward

The Edward (version 1)

The Edward

At certain times in the day,
Edward is a painter
smearing oils to shapes of lips
with his fingers, singing
dolce vita a little too loud,
because later he's a musician,
the piano light on its feet
under his prancing fingers,
those callused gadgets.

At other times in the day,
Edward is a chef.
The apron, the paper hat, the wok.
He can mash potatoes with one hand,
core an apple with just one finger.

At the end of the day,
Edward is an Edward,
a man with a paper back,
leather belt, and cold toes.
He lies in bed under lamplight,
tracing words with his finger,
everytime from left to right,
the same rhythm, the same thing
everyday and every night.