Poems From The After Hours Café

At The Bookstore

Thursday night
8:00pm
Table in the left corner
Two hot coffees, black with milk for
me, black with sugar for him
And sweet, tempting pastry to share
A book or two rests on the table,
ignored and untouched

What brought us to this place that
caressed us, mesmerize us by
countless books, illustrious authors,
talented poets, compelling and
inspiring writings
It was home to our creative minds,
our spiritual souls, our generous hearts
How did we meet was always a
familiar question, was it by chance,
or was it a “God wink”
We only knew each other for a short
time, but it felt so quite the opposite
There was so much familiarity, a
magnetic connection, and boy, there
was that “attraction”
Had we cross paths in another
lifetime, were we past life lovers, are
we soul mates

We talked and talked, our
conversations endless, timeless
Laughed at stories of today and
yesterday, and much long ago
We smiled at each other while
speaking of childhood memories,
family, friends
Even confessions of regrets,
mistakes, losses made their way into
the dialogue
Stealing every second, every minute
until closing

The splendor of the moon peeking
through the window shined upon the
clock
Our time at the bookstore was
coming to an end…sadly
Good nights were exchanged,
sweetened by his kiss on my cheek

Until . . .

Thursday night

8:00pm

Table in the left corner

At the bookstore


Intellectual Sex

I sense your romancing gaze across the room
Beyond your eyes, my spirit enters your soul
I listen to you speak of religion, politics, science and the arts
As you so eloquently feed my seduced mind with words and flavor

My senses become aroused as I watch you, listen to you
while you entice me with your intellectual pleasures
touching my “forbidden”
You moisten your lips with the libation of red wine
and talk about philosophical gentlemen
as you so movingly quote Longfellow, Bryant and Thoreau

Desperate to know your inner most thoughts
Share with me your deepest secrets
Ravenous for your sweetest desires
I want to drown in your most intimate fantasies

Your powerful weapon
makes me want you
makes me want to come inside

Allow me in
and make love to my mind
 


Flies In A Café

I’ve been asked quite politely
to refrain from certain subjects
so I’m writing now
of flies in cafes . . .
like the one that screamed passed my cup
& canoli,
the one who has me walking along the ceiling
con lui,
frozen in time
at cracking speeds

Death is imminent,
at least we are aware of its lurking florescent ambiance,
io e lui . . . brothers in flight
at 12:45 am somewhere here in town
with thoughts that maybe I should
pay my bill
and say goodnight
to an old friend



A Pretty Tattoo

The day was bright when I entered the little bar
in Maverick Sq as I rarely do, too early in the day
with no real excuse to shoot one back
(or two)
except for that gnawing, anxious solitude in my upper gut
and the familiar scene I might expect to see
in my shaded hideout of
walnut paneling, gritty mirrors
& dirty light...

The old man hunching over his
empty beer, wheezing
I've forgotten his name
but I remember he is dying
so I buy him another beer
And he smiles his missing smile
And I smile

Bartender slides one down
And I notice
the pretty name
tattooed on his white arm
And it reminds me again
to call my daughter

And I think about the way
She says, Hi daddy...

And I think how
useful
pretty tattoos can be
and dark barrooms
and
dying old men