Ando Ehlers practices his accordion in May 2009

Oxford Villanelle

I walk stone streets alone, a rained-on storyteller,
While silent couples, dry and slow, ask me:
Is that what you want, to share an umbrella?

To women I seem to remain that stranger—
There but not, right but wrong, good but free;
I walk stone streets alone, a rained-on storyteller.

My future's not likely to include a bestseller
Not if art imitates my life, certainly;
I market to no one, an unsuccessful peddler

Ignored by social clusters on cusps of gala,
Leaving me to ponder hopelessly:
Is that what you want, to share an umbrella?

Once, I fancied myself a gambler
Shouldering solitude's risk patiently—
I walk stone streets alone, a rained-on storyteller.

But, it never seems to turn ’round, my mandala,
So beyond this point I cannot yet see:
Is that what you want, to share an umbrella?

Recurring pain should inspire a novella.
But how can I ask this her? Why can't we be?
I walk stone streets alone, a rained-on storyteller:
"Is that what you want, to share an umbrella?"
2009.08.04