Tuesday, May 15, 2012

To James, After Your Birthday

The much maligned and fabled
Morning after such a fine
Old evening and night of
Celebration hit us hard.

We rose for tea and coffee,
Sat around your kitchen table
With our buttered toast and
Clouded memories and bashful smiles.

The freshness of that Sunday
In September, after rain,
And the glowing green horizon
Soothed our tired eyes and heads.

We spoke of songs and drinking,
Of games and broken glasses,
Of comforts and of cures that
Conjured images of childhood,

Then toasted you and yours with
Empty vessels, croaking, hoarse
And happy notes in voices
Of those glad to be your friends.

No comments:

Post a Comment