Three poems


And a coffee



Not today.

Today you go to see

the sisters

at the Convent of Our Holy Day.

Today you sing

an opera

a folk song

a poem

written by a child

born in the pasture

during a respite

from the war



And the music filled the room

With tidings

of good days

Sensations of cinnamon

And vanilla


Roberta walked in the room.

She took his hand

and they danced

to Australia

and Singapore

and the place down the street

where they have those great desserts.


It was a long dance.


Then they went home and slept

until they woke up again



And a something was

dangling in the air

It was in Albany

and Albuquerque

and here

and there

and everywhere


Some people called it Charley

Some people called it Sam

For the gender-fluid in the crowd

It was known as Terry

Or Tam


Why am I writing this?

Why not say a prayer to the gods up high

Charley may always be here

Until the day we all die

Filed under: Art and Culture, Poetry

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