A Collection of Poems - 4. Late rainy afternoon

Late rainy afternoon

The poem is somewhere in the har
I feel it
whirling around the tables
flying above the heads
gently as he comes to greet us
remains for a short while in the words I may grasp
comparing the merits of Pippen and Jordan
but voices enlightened I hear their rhythm flow
until it has covered that of the loud juke-box
my gaze follows the poem
he always has a better place to see
other people to visit
Now he roars he bitches
in the voice of this girl
who yells at her boyfriend she leaves
he follows her, well,
they follow
her outside and the poem's settled oh yes
but for two minutes only he is quite serious
And he has to rush back to the T.V. set to
caress tenderly the swing that will end up in
a roar from the crowd
he's welcoming back the guy
left alone by the girl
who comes and sit with his friends
the poem witnesses how the ice is broken
anew
he gets back to me for a while rewards me with
bouncing words magic
storytelling (a nice flower was picked up then given to a dog it was the only way that it would stop barking it was a starting point of phrases exchanges possible intercourse yet madness on the rampage bursts into violence nothing to understand it carne from a flower and the following glance)
then he will maybe be the pawn, the mighty rook
even though he likes most being the bishop
or the queen
and he will love the moves provided they are
clever and they are so often
he doesn't need an umbrella to walk out
in the street and follow me
and yet as I go out I know
that he'd rather stay inside
where it's warm

October 8, 1997