Comfortable love

Muted by windows, traffic drones
its uptodowndoppler low growl
rumble pounding bass sibilance murmur
irrational abstract concordant dance
that we ignore now, grown used
Clink of coffee spoons memories of
Ben’s in Montreal, presided over by those
bow-tied white shirted nine o’clock shadow
waiters, and the little sign on every table:
“Use less sugar, stir like mad:
we don’t mind the noise.”
We carry that behind the eyebrows
coffee spoons that measure out the time
each time we meet before the drone
rumble subtle quaking China — no
china in the cabinet so civilized our afternoons
mothers used to meet in hats and we repeat
stirring like mad without hats as in church now too
in the almost empty pew we sit and nod
the sorry mundane hymns strummed by guitar
vulgate is so vulgar; where are the gregorian echoes
soaring over organisms roaring everything but Ave
murmuring grace after meals in self-inflicted sweetness
tonsured cowled sunlight streams through incense
swung in a clicking censer by the trembling altar boy
some ritual a liturgy that carries us forward
through the measured insistence of the clock
the calendar, passing of the moon the stars reeling
the hockey stats guitars and simple reinventions
on the wheel of music oh carry me back saint catherine
through my fault through my most thump thump thump
to the lone pew kneeling in submission to the will of
momma who insisted we attend this church
of pappa’s while he was away and she went her way
to hell the nuns told me and fueled my nightmares
for years stink of flesh burning in the ovens those good people
spread upon me like cream cheese on white crustless bread
oh god forgive me but like Huck I’d rather
go there with my beloved momma than with you
whom I do not know except as a long beard in
a burning bush yelling kill kill kill or you cant go home
So we stir our coffee inhale the aroma of the sacred
beans roasted ground brewed to perfection
the hit is in the smell why drink it when you can
just sniff an aphrodisiac and love everybody
no, he said, I’ll have to go to war far far away and
so he went dragging all of our nightmares over there
over there channeling the powerful dopplered drones
of spitfires messershmidts in dogfights over
the newsreels great parade of flags and fireworks
and enemy death carefully censored with dark eyes
perhaps a cat prowling on the windowsill
looking in, her intense green eyes longing
to curl up nearby while we talk about the talk
the talk that streams through dreams and days
through newspaper newsprint onto the internet
into the onternet until singing voices wake up
and we crown at 3:57 in the morning it’s a boy
seven pounds five point three ounces palindrome
congratulations and the small talk drones on
dopplering in and out of my eyes like rainbows
over the other side of the river near the blue cliffs
the river we all cross towards the light
and all our friends stirring like mad ignoring
the tears the embarrassing tears that drip
off the ends of our noses for we miss all
these dear friends with whom we shared
all these coffee aromas and discussed everything
that didn’t oh I’d live to tell you all my true loves
I’d live to love you if I could the traffic
O the traffic of the street is so discreet I cannot
participate except to hesitate stirring coffee
while our hearts drip out pale thready treacle
and a moment at a time, it is too late.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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