This line was not scrawled in shorthand,
jotted into a journal on some smoke-
pumping train romantically ranging
the north, although I do have a journal
for such a purpose.
Perhaps you have the same one.
Mine is wrapped in black and fastened with elastic,
and boasted from a store shelf of being the tool
of terse Ernest, and Chatwin whom
I reddened at not having read.
Pocket-sized, although my pockets are full
of keys and a telephone.
A safety net for musings, although I work
in a school, where ready paper blooms
from all corners as if it grew on trees.
Yet I keep it, because someday I may be
the dark-haired figure in one of Europe’s cafés,
a smoke in the hand not holding the pen,
attracting glances from girls;
because I am more concerned with being
than with doing.
–Ian James
Image: Paul Watson @ Moleskinerie/FLICKR
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