Tomorrow I will be at the table when company comes
you will hear my stomach growl and my nails will be unclean.
I have waited for this meal with you a long time but
you won't understand anything I say.
Don't breath too deep nor wish my hair to be combed
Yes water is fine, though my hands will not take time to butter the bread
The guest that draws the short straw will sit pale next to me
and will only think they are uncomfortable
when I begin to wash their feet before mine.
I will speak of kids that hustle on the streets, crazy voices, the
dealers and how we could love the street-bound a little more
than they can hope for. You'll need to read between the lines for what I really hunger for.
All the coins begged for on street corners will never fill
the deep hole that so many are digging.
You are all that I have-
It will just be easier if you just think I'm not looking for
dignity on tomorrows menu.
3A and 4B are swappin' stories about Alaska and Montana and the regions and towns
and products that they sold there and the issues they had
and the fella's that they knew so very long ago.
These new guys now, they don't want to put the time in and
they don't know the people and they don't know the territory
You gotta work the territory,
You gotta know the territory if you want to get ahead!
And the blades start a turnin' and the engines cough to life
and here we go again. Yes the turbines kick them faster
and we buckle up our belts cause Portland's getting closer
to our tired droopy faces and our small cups of beer.
Our shirts and skirts and our food show pants, reek of
over cooked bacon and burgers and of country style fries
with our trade show feet we keep shufflin' down the aisle
wishing that we were younger and shorter and lighter than we are.
We are all in our seats and buckled low and tight
the cups recycled and the tables are stowed for the final approach
soon we're back on the ground and choosing new seats
on this funny carrousel , oh the ride never ends.
Up from the steps it slunk into our morning’s peace. I spied the flash, then a glint of bruised
gray in her eyes, As its chill blew across my cup the news story's
corpse crawled up the right side of Maddy's
I folded its throat
neatly under, it let go and fell to the floor;
wisps of dog hair and bread crumbs
and lost coffee
grounds. Our morning regained its seat,
and settled back in with
Mutts and Red and Rover start over with
jumbled words, and 24 down and across. Uncle Russ' sketch is
discovered from last night, tucked neatly under one arm of a refrigerator
magnet; its Earl the rabbit again, sporting his wry smile and classic
A spark of a "thank you" prayer rises
from the corner of my eye for the sleight of hand that saved her
thoughts from dread, buried in the recycling with no afforded
rites. You’re not to share our peaceful hour! She doesn’t need to know
fingers find the piano and Bach’s Prelude fills the house. An unwrapped gift just for me to stay the day, long after she is gone. She is playing still, when I close my eyes
This creaky bistro chair make my heart beat just a bit
slower as the days travelog quietly scrolls by up on
the wall. Ivory-ed linen courtesies are exchanged
one hand to another with a softness hard to find.
It seems to be evening now in Prague and
almost noon at Machu Picchu. Later Big Ben's face
peeks through the morning fog over the Thames,
over-coated pedestrians pass perfectly on cue.
All seems so right with this captured world.
There are no understudies nor enmity among the movies
cast, over who got top billing or the role of a life time,
or who was caught from their worst angle. It is all
silent for them, no lines to rehearse.They just walk by
on their way to forever.
No slap of the clapperboards and the gaffer was not hired,
the cameraman was not fussy, the shadows and lights au nature,
but oh, the craft service menu is so good on this side
of the screen, hand made just for me.
The gentle mist of companionship sifts down over all of us
with our pastry scented accents, smiles of cappuccino and scones
a flat-capped barista whispers welcome back home to me with but a nod
every time I lift the brass latch. The old road home again please.