old friends

there's a new tenant in the old brick storefront,

a coffee shop with all the current affections:

soft jazz on the sound track,

esoteric muffins, cookies

sans sugar, sans fat, sans gluten.

i have my favorite window seat with

a view of all the little dramas on the street.

a couple walking hand in hand,

suddenly let go and glare

like they've just been hit

by ten thousand volts at sing sing.

so i don't see her come up behind me.

brush a warm hand across my neck,

rest it lightly on my shoulder,

shoot a hot breath across my ear.

i turn and look up to see

those flashing eyes and teeth,

the wink implied  with just a hint.

i know her, knew her, knew her when.

i can see the table where we shared…..

all those electric conversations……..

all that tension...…so,

why does her name escape me,

memory desert me?

at such an

inconvenient time?

hello stranger, what a surprise, i say.

so good to see you, i lamely improvise,

hoping that this stall will resurrect

whatever traces my reluctant neurons

can dredge up through the latest

clutter of scandal, scores, and musings

about the hidden plot lines

of the people walking by.

how long's it been?

i brilliantly inquire.

she says, ten years my friend,

and you haven't changed a bit.

she's lying and knows I know it

but we'll just pretend it's true.

wings for a snail

While waiting

for my wings to grow

and contemplating

the clotted sky, a broken comb,

I wondered if

there are still a few

poems left in my

chromosomes,

some philosopher's kidney stones,

to transmute the lead of the street,

into gold.

(if i'm lucky)

I imagined:

the smoky torchlit cave

of Alta Mira twenty thousand years ago

where people clad in skins and fur

drew a polychrome herd of bison

and deer loping across the ceiling.

And the reed-thin sun-blackened man

who sat beneath a Kakadu gum tree,

painting kangaroos and crocodiles

in X-ray style, white lines on bark

the vast world of his Dreamtime,

while mine is mired

in the prosaic of sidewalk gum,

paychecks, and weather reports.

my understanding grows

with all the speed of a snail,

.........but without the shelter

of the shell. oh well.