I Believe in Love, Now STAY AWAY
In the tiny coffee shop all the tables were full
A man kept his table to himself
And would not acknowledge anyone
Defensive behind his deep-thoughts book
The rest of us shared our tables and space
Exchanging greetings, pleasantries, and thanks
Passing the cream and sweeteners and napkins around
All
Except for that one poor sullen man
On the cover was a drawing of a Christian dove –
His book was entitled I Believe in Love
The Church Garage Sale
(Although the garage sale is in the parish hall because there is no garage)
A garage sale is a rebuke to us all –
The metaphysical finger having writ
Turns now from that lost Babylonian wall
And points at us as if to scribe this bit:
Why did you buy these masses of junk at all?
An Envelope Is Its Own Story
An envelope in the post office parking lot
A woman parks next to it, looks down, and sneers
And puffs and heaves her ponderousness inside
To dock at the counter and make demands
I rescue the envelope and note the name and address
Oh, yes. I remember. That was all so sad
At least the daughter’s in the Army and safe enough
It’s a Christmas card. The man must have dropped it
I leave it at the counter, explaining the circs
The postal clerk accepts it back, and sneers
Unknown Saint – 25 Cents
A little plastic statue of a saint
(In context, am I permitted to say “tchotchke?”)
A woman in white with a flowered crown
And a tiny crucifix in her tiny hand
She stood between a broken-bladed pocketknife
And an HO gauge caboose without wheels
There was a Barbie with her arms ripped off
And an I LIKE IKE button from 1952
The little saint now stands upon my shelf
Gently to remind me of my better self
Why Should I Always Fly with a Tennis Ball?
The ad is served like a tennis ball
Across the net and just out of bounds
A tennis ball wouldn’t hog the armrest
But I’d much rather travel with a friend
You, perhaps, if you bring along a book
Or maybe a crossword, but not a video game
We could look up from the page and ask
The attendant for a pot of tea for two
Traveling with you would be ever so grand
Because
A tennis ball could never hold your hand
The Crescent Moon over Marseille
Let us now employ those cliched old rhymes:
Moon
Spoon
June
To ask if over Marseille there ever sails
A waxing or waning croissant moon!
The Last American Westclox Baby Ben
(Maybe)
It ticked into my heart at the Goodwill store
Two dollars’ worth of Americana
A charmer in a battered metal shell
Hiding behind a tired plastic face
The tick, the tock, the talk of Peru, Illinois
The clock that woke America each dawn
For work and study, and to meet the Chicago train
For a century until time ran out
It clicks and clanks and ticks and tocks and talks
All-day dutiful hands, a jangling bell –
How long will this old clock last?
Only time will tell
One Flight That Can’t be Cancelled
So many planes are grounded, this is true
But the one flight that will always come through
Is the flight in my dreams, my journey home to you
Pushing the Envelope
What envelope is being pushed?
From whom to whom – across the room?
And why should it be pushed at all?
Is the envelope an English A-1?
An American business-size?
A birthday check for someone to steal?
Pushing a broom, pushing a sale
Pushing a pen – some sense in those
But what is the purpose in pushing
An envelope?
And did you stamp it?
Let’s All Meet in Cicely
From a dream sailing all the way from Thailand
Let’s all meet in Cicely before the snow
You can find me sitting outside The Brick
At peace as the gentle autumn breezes blow
Having put aside my hiking stick
Fleischmann joins us on that old wooden bench
Chris-in-the-Morning stops by for a beer
Hollings gives Shelly a husbandly pinch
She takes his broom and with it smacks his rear
Maurice and Maggie, Ruth-Anne, Marilyn, and Ed
Drop in with stories of love and life and history
And news brought in by plane and road and sled
To this Brigadoon of happy mystery
Let’s all meet in Cicely before the snow
And share in its peace before we go
LogoSophia Magazine 