Thank heavens for Poetry in Transit.
There was this girl on the food-floor at Woodwards. She was studying Fine Art at college. I used to take my groceries to her till and tried to chat her up. Katie, her name was. I drove her to North Van one weekend and showed her how work was coming on the bridge, the two spans inching closer by the hour. Very dramatic, she said, removing my hand from beneath her blouse. She wasn’t talking about me. Then she began to describe a painting on the ceiling of a building in Rome, a sort of pointing-match where a whole lot of energy crosses over between the outstretched, almost-touching index fingers of God and Adam. Sounds to me like the sparks in an arc welder, I ventured. For that, she replied, you deserve a kiss. A promising start, I thought, something to build on. Katie read my mind. It takes more than the laws of physics, she said.
Gary Geddes, An Educated Guess