An Unroasted Bean
tonight
cold rain fell as heavy snow
flakes fat with polar dew
roads turned to sideshows
skies black as crows
but the java tastes off
(beans must've turned south)
as I haunt crowded coffee bars
full of latte frothed mouths
and hip addictions
the melt-water from my boots
pools below me
an old lady slips on the floorboard
so I grab her arm
and feel what a fresh half caff
feels like splashed on bare skin
I grimace and take the penance
for interacting with the world
(my daily hair shirt)
I need to kill the self
to save the self
break the walls
to climb the walls
out of a mood that matches
the monochromatic day
napkin, scrap
notebook scribble
full of
hasty rhymes
feckless words
such heady tonics
(like stolen whiskey)
the more I drink
the more I thirst
the scratch of the pencil
like the tap of the needle
geography doesn't matter
if you
curse the goddamn candle
or
call to midnight
or
rage at dawnlight
so
in a crowd, alone
I sing silent songs
in the dark cellar of my heart
and wait
as reflected faces move
across frosted glass, murmuring
low conversations around me
while salt trucks pass
(like rumbling oliphants)
and melt it all away....
Copyright © Andrew Foreman | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment