Double life

I bought him a little yellow book as a gift. The grill had been long fired up in the back yard by the time I showed up. There were a lot of people at this BBQ in honor of his promotion: his friends from the bank, the sailing club, neighbors. His wife was serving drinks. His son was also there shadowing his parents, passing the paper plates and picking up empty beer cans while pleasantly smiling at all the guests. It was very strange to realize that none of these people who knew this man as a successful banker and a happy head of family had ever read a single line of the wildly sensual poems he composed in his spare time. He had succeeded in creating a perfect double life for himself. I gave him my gift, ate a hamburger, and waited for some sort of a sign that he wanted to talk in private. He didn't. So I cornered him when he went upstairs to pick up more cheese from the fridge and told him I wanted to talk about poetry. "Sorry," he said, "I thought I could do it, but I really can't. I'll just see you back at the bookstore, alright?" So I left. It's really too bad, this guy has a gift with words, if only he could make time for what is truly important!