Thursday night and almost full
Silently I study the view
From a “comfy chair” in the corner.
Circumstances have made me a
Regular of sorts
But I only recognize one old guy
Kibitzing too long with the barista
Wearing the same bright yellow shirt as last night.
The couple playing Munchkin
are oblivious. Belonging more at a kitchen table but
good for them. I envy their comfort.
Mr. Superman T-shirt commands the
study group at the large table too comfortable with the girl
to be just friends.
Random jazz fills the gaps -
The old guy bites his nails.
The man at the counter is all business while
two couples chat and flirt
away from the kids?
away from the bar?
maybe just away.
With jazz and superman and munchkins,
I drink in what I can of coffee
and time and circumstance
I see you Turn your pages I hear you Sing your songs But I know You are not here with me You are not here Next to the soda kiosk Where thirsty patrons Bashfully avoid eye contact While cupping ice and drink You are not here Across from the counter Of energetic salami assemblers Who call your name At the end of each song You are not here Near the booth Where the father asks For Puff the Magic Dragon Confused when you say you don’t know it Mr. Sandwich Shop Guitar Man I see you On a different stage At a different time Without the air of Pickles and potato chips Without the air of Tired moms and milk shakes Without the air of Longing to be singing Anywhere but here Anywhere but here But here you are Singing to the sandwiches Turning pages to find a tune Perfect for a ham and swiss Perfect for a pickle Perfect for Jackie Paper And his dad And the counter jockeys Who call your name And bring you back So your journey May begin Again
(c) 2010, Norman Dziedzic Jr.
For the cinquain challenge.
Above the barren field
I saw a bluebird in its nest
Autumn exhales, long and slow Spent - by the harvest And the felling of leaves; Tugging at the last brown stragglers. The barren maples and birch Palaver on winter preparations Warily eyeing the constant conifers Who hold tight their secrets. Time is ever even but our division Shifts toward the night. Drifts From the light to algid evenings Descending toward the solstice. And then, though imperceptible Days stretch for the celebrations Late in the season, late in the year. December's denouement.
(c) 2012, Norman Dziedzic Jr.