Joe


Joe-

You sit at my table,
Beige turtleneck,
hand on hip

Listening while I warm up to you,
While you cool down for me

Your cologne invigorating,
Sumatra or Kenyan today?

Your sense of humor bitter,
Scalding if taken in too quickly

Intensely dark, Mel Brooks would ask for seconds,
Stomach you without cream or sugar

I like you just as you are, for here or to go,
And for now, with your chipped smile beaming at
Is that Prufrock at the corner table,
Fiddling with his spoons?
Pondering what is so uniquely mollifying about you?
And me in my blue jeans and house slippers

Our relationship extends beyond today or yesterday’s brew,
To you reading the morning paper with dad,
To mom tapping her fingers on your sleeve whenever he hid behind the paper too long,
To us hot-gluing the quadratic equation to my mind,
Inviting Shakespeare and the Bronte Sisters over for a slice of pie,
Late into the night

Each one of our rendezvous now reduced
To a stain on my white blouse,
An aftertaste in my mouth,
The yellowing of my teeth

Joe-

You are not my cup of tea
But Carly Simon once sang about clouds in her coffee
And I can’t help but wonder if there are some in mine

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