Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Lunching With Joe


Lunching With Joe

there is a
sweet disorder
to lunching with Joe
deep in the middle of
the worst month
cowered in a dim crook
among the Irish barflies
their scruffy clothes
brooding looks
& racking coughs
over pints of draft beer
empty soup cups
& lively ukulele music
we are
dedicated to poetry
he draws
the world closer
proximate to touch
shouting lines from        
haikus
                sonnets               
                                odes
words warp w/ a romantic
crookedness
he is a buoyant devotee
confronting impossibility
                & my decrees
are prized in his company
words wound tight
fitted w/ implication
so when I rise to leave
                sodden of poet sage
(how the end
always begins)
inexpressible anguish
                floods his fair face
& he murmurs low
a lonesome farewell
I was beginning to love you
                alas you leave
he is unaware
                of my grieving

**

The title of this poem came from book passage and I couldn't get it out of my head. I fell asleep last night dreaming about two souls converging in an old dark pub, among vagrants, over sustenance in bowls and cups, sharing their musings about poetry. A union fleeting yet rife with meaning. It was an image, a relationship I couldn't shake. 

And so, I tackled it. Played with it. Molded it and composed it. 

Another nugget for poetry month. 

In propinquity,
Nic

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