Friday, June 3, 2016
Continuing saga of my sagging floor - Poem: Drinkin Coffee There and Here
Note Charlie's new turquoise colored wrist-watch.
Here's some notes I took.
ungovnd spaces will be exploited
the implications wont be contained
doing something about it - u s leadership
esp from the islamic world
gotta do more than just drone strikes, comprehensive approach
this is a generational struggle
Okay, I can't stand it anymore. Gonna shut it off.
Here's Glen's truck. He borrowed a trailed from a friend and is returning it.
Scott and Mike Kramer are fixing Mike's Kia. He's happy with it but there's a lot of rust and rot.
DRINKIN COFFEE THERE AND HERE
My ruined kitchen awaits repair
so, dreaming of creamy scrambled
eggs and luscious French toast
I drive over to Weis market on
County Line Road.
Breakfast? says the woman.
Only on Sundays.
Off I go to the nearby
Dunkin Donuts, the second
choice of discerning
What's this? A cheese bagel?
It doesn't look like a bagel
It's twisted says the bespectacled
Indian. I'll have it, I say, and
take it to my table along with
the small black coffee.
It's like chewing into a piece
of stale Bazooka bubble gum, so
he heats in up in the brazier, I'll
call it. With brown schnaperkins,
as my dad called them, I wipe the
crumbs off the table, then sit
in my knee-length blue dress on
the cold wooden seat.
The coffee's fine. Hot and goes
down smooth, like gin. The cheese bagel?
Why fret about it? It's part of me now.
And the coffee, reheated with a sprinkle of
cinnamon, leaves a striated painting
in the paper coffee cup.