A Fly on the Wall Cafe

As I digested thoughts of mug warts and nasty nettles
from the plastic vinyl and the lace curtains,
I turned the pages of the menu
as if they were time itself
hinting at bologna omelets, liver and onions,
even chipped beef.

There was a hum inside that was bright
with sunflowers, and children
slurping long worms of spaghetti.
I even saw a glass of laughter milkshake
blowing a straw paper that hit my heart,
but I didn't see a single fly.

Would you like a glass of cool? the waitress winked
and made another line on her face.
There was precious room for another
so smiled was her skin
and lubricated by bacon grease and the cubed butter
slathered creamy yellow onto pumpernickel, raisin
or a sourdough slice of fresh backed every day bread.

Did I really settle for tuna fish and french fries, even a coke,
when I could have had a butter-battered blueberry delectable?
My senses were caught in the plates that passed,
breathing dumplings and real maple syrup.

I couldn't tell you what I ate
but I know that I was full
and as I drove away I found
tucked into the neck of my best dress
a napkin where I'd written these words.

Tides Suck and Release

I'm so far away from beach towel days
though my gaze down the canyon
in my viewfinder stays
on the old comfortable seat
of some beat up van
where I sit with the sun
listening to insects hum
and kids on the playground almost complete
a belief that sand is sifting beneath my feet

Where the ocean curls so far away now
I can almost hear it in the breeze through the sunflowers
drained dry and brittle and sinking into seeds
where birds tweet and treat delirious with time

I can stay the past
with seagulls play and the sweet salt air
burning in my reverie
then turn away like summer does
away away to the rolling motion
of tides suck and release
a tease to the wiggle of toes
like these
on an old comfortable seat
of some beat up van
where I sit with the sun
grateful I am