(Written at the Coffee House)
Here is where I meet my friends,
have long conversations; glances,
can’t remember all their names—
(all the time) my coffee cup often jumps,
when they come by, breaking up the
moment of my concentration….
Women want to borrow chairs—often
around my table; I’m a regular here—;
everyday until-night, from three to almost
midnight… writing, reading, drawing,
it’s what I do, I’m a poet.
Three’s the professor, from the U of M;
and Johannes, a poet and friend; and
then, there is Papa Bear, he works at
the Airlines, worried, ‘Northwest,’ is
going out of business
And then there is Gene, he likes erotica;
and Kathy, she’s a Faulkner fan; and
Royce, a lawyer, he has no real choice;
and Mathew, he’s a writer of songs, and
music
And then there is Janet, she’s loves the
word of God; and Michelle, she likes the
law also; and there’s Cindy W., a poet
who loves ‘Plath,’ and Gary and Sue, book
lovers too, and me, a plain poet.
I have learned much from all my friends,
at the Coffee House, at the B & N, in
Roseville—and that we all love to inhale
the odor of Coffee, books and conversation;
I think fate has brought us here; Amen!
Dedicated to my friends at the Coffee House; #1257 3/2/06 revised 2/5/06
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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