My weekly poem has become a fortnight poem! I am sooo close to being done with my Master's program. Then I return to sanity and schedules :)
I am sitting on a cloth bench at Starbucks.
It was warm from the previous patron
who just moved to a leather armchair.
Moments ago, there weren’t any open tables
and I was uncomfortable in the draft of the front door
at a long high table with high stools,
which did not provide the
ergonomic angles you are supposed to have
when typing on a computer.
I’d waited all week for this pause
to write a poem with warmed pumpkin bread,
a decaf Americano with raw sugar
and a shotglass of cream,
but not perching, not in the cold,
not with my elbows in my armpits.
I so appreciated the warmth
my cold ass immediately soaked up,
the warm ass of someone I didn’t know.
It felt slightly gross,
it felt like a gift.
I will give him an extra smile on my way out.
My my (not only my) little my secret,
how I got a warmed bench
the end table that I love,
farthest away from the front (always opening) door?
The Universe is a curio shop
stumbled into on our inter galactic travels,
a flea market on a warm Saturday morning.
Angels are picking their noses,
we can’t help if no one asks
they complain to their supervisor.
Fairies too have quotas.
I ask for cars.
I ask for schedules to change,
people to cancel, texts to be answered,
for swaths of sleep, for compassion.
Posed in the sweetest, most barely a query,
it would be so wonderful, no worries,
if you’re not busy and it would be fun...
My second secret?
I say thank you.
Thank you to the sporty red car called Ruby
my sister offered,
out of the blue?
rather out of the blah,
out of the belief of impossibility.
She texted me a picture of it a few days after I thought,
shoot we need another car.
But wait, it gets better.
I wanted a Toyota because they run forever.
Ruby is a Pontiac Vibe.
With a Toyota engine.
Gratitude when I am overwhelmed
and a teenager offers to pick up his younger brother,
Gracias ex husband who left leftovers
when I came home too tired to cook.
The third secret is the ringer, the ransom, the reason.
I say thank you
for the things I don’t want.
You should have, to the ice storm that shut down the town,
Yes really, to the plane delay, tree falling, lost wallet,
you are most kind, to even, even, even death.
Much obliged, difficult son who made me a better therapist
when difficult children come in my office.
Praise, today, to my sore knee
for making me slow down and help the woman
ahead of me who struggled
opening the heavy glass door.