Tablecloths Poems

The Laundry Room

The Laundry Room

Aprons folded flat, tablecloths left lying on their back,
Black patent baby shoes piled in a stack
Against the tower of towels needed for a bath.
Dusty duvets rolled out of use
Toilet mats,  underwear , socks all loose.
An ironing board, stands full of abuse
The sadness I feel is so profuse.

Outdated

I am not made for these modern times
Missouri mud runs through my veins
unspoiled country air flows through my lungs.
my roots are intertwined in the bedrock 
of culture, traditions and folklore 
of a pioneer Midwest

My heart beats with the rhythm
of wind through oak trees
the sway of golden wheat 
steady fall of summer rain 
on metal porch roofs

My voice is the sound 
of pickup trucks on gravel roads
tractors plowing through gumbo
hoot of owls from leaning red barns.
yip of foxes or the howl of coyotes from
across green pastures under full moon’s glow

trumpeting of roosters greeting the day
song of blue jays, cardinals, 
red wing blackbirds
caw of crows pecking through early snow
on harvested corn fields
beat of horse hooves
lazy bawling of cows 

My nostrils are filled 
with the smell of
wildflower meadows,
 fresh baled hay
alfalfa, soybeans, 
and apple blossoms

I am lightning bugs on summer’s eve
coon hounds asleep on sunlit porches
family picnics on red checkered tablecloths
horseshoes, freeze tag and kick the can

I am unlocked doors and open windows
rocking chairs and back porch swings
I am outdated

Ship of Dreams

The ship of dreams
Opulent surroundings
Fancy bed linens
Luxurious dinner plates and tablecloths
Gleaming virginal utensils
Dazzling crystal chandeliers
Polished walnut woodwork
Gold gilded fireplaces

Wardrobes ready for furs and dresses
An experienced captain
Eager staff
Bustling activity
Musicians, artists, businessmen aboard
High ranking officials, wealthy industrialists, celebrities
Cruising flawlessly in clear blue sea
A haven and heaven during the day
Easy sleeping and dreaming in the evening

J.P. Morgan was disappointed to have to cancel at the last minute
Four glorious days of sailing
Around Midnight April 15th, 1912 the Titanic struck an iceberg
The chunk of devilry slashed a three-hundred-foot gash in the hull
Haphazard evacuation ensued
First lifeboat could have held sixty-five people
It left with twenty-eight
The dream ship broke in half after filling halfway up with water
In two hours fifteen hundred people died
The majority of them froze to death in the North Atlantic

Sedulous Priorities

Specially caught shells and pearls,
still lace is woven with worn fingers.

The anointed ten, working together,
crochet a web of intricate design.

Shells on the sandy shelf satisfy,
but doilies and tablecloths linger.

For long in darkness and flickering,
scented candles and burgundy wine.

Pearls of buttons and bows preen,
but a veil of mantilla lace whispers.

The free flow of digits and knuckles -
gentle, well-versed - her palm’s a vine.

Round and round, her wrists writhe,
breath’s aligned within the scriptures.

Evening at Portofino Ristorante

the dining hall is half empty
because it is friday - shabbat
and good jews light candles at home
not such a good jew i am out
with my female friend both of us
dressed for the late winter evening

conversation is light, muted
mostly about the eggplant dish
i'm having or calimari
my elegant friend is having
while the wizened broad in the back
plays dulcet tones on the steinway

my mind drifts from the idle talk
as i think how at such a place
with the white tablecloths
quiet music and low lighting
they shot dead rosie rosenthal
when he stepped outside for a smoke

i half expect to get shot too
when at length the dinner concludes
and we rejoin the chilly night
with near regret i note i'm not
for they'd recall me like rosie
and i'd not wake up still alone

A Lady and a Pillow

A lady and a pillow

I read about a woman who, when going abroad
takes a pillow from her bedroom, one with printed flowers
and smells of yesterday’s shampoo and rinse
not a silly little heart-shaped pillow was given to 
the newlywed with a knowing wink and smarmy smile
 so, what do I know about anatomy or the structure 
of a skeleton?
The lady with her cushion doesn’t stay in the youth motel
 but a proper hotel, where they say: “Does the madam 
like a cup of tea? She sweetly smiles, wishing the question 
had been of a sultry nature
The roaming woman visits art galleries and museums
 dines at a nice restaurant that has white tablecloths
 wide chairs and soft music
“Does the madam like dessert?” She sweetly smiles, but
wishes the question had been daring, what she whispers
to the pillow.

Courtship

I watched a sparrow on the ground
With an insistent tweet.
Another bird flew over,
Bringing her a bite to eat.

This ritual repeated,
With some crumbs from beak to beak.
I Googled this behavior and
I learned I’d had a peek

At a fine display of courtship,
Not so different from our own.
Without the wine and tablecloths,
A seed had still been sown.

I guess it’s universal -
When it comes to pitching woo,
The sharing of a meal is what
Most couples tend to do.

An Empty Suitcase

My heart is an empty suitcase
That I store in the attic
It waits for me to fill it with all the things I need to leave. 
One time I took it down overhead 
stepping on the stepladder 
down to the hall to my closet,
And filled it with carefully folded shirts and pants and good looking things
Thinking about the tablecloths and napkins that were folded neatly at a great restaurant where I’d sit across from you
After landing and driving and picking you up and driving and sitting down. 

My navy blue, hardshell suitcase had an old airline tag that an airport girl abruptly ripped off before putting on a fresh new one. 

I thought about her green eyes while you and I had dinner that night. 

When I got home, I unpacked and threw everything on the floor and carried my empty suitcase back up to the attic. 

But when I got down from the attic stairs,
Your turquoise scarf was laying on top of the clothes
And I thought of your eyes
Before they closed
While I watched them 
last night.

Neruda S Great Tablecloth

at the first encounter, i thought, that he stole my mother’s tablecloth,
and called it Great while she turned the flour into bread,

after, i thought, what if they were lovers, and shared the same tablecloth
while my father was sweating in his fields, and she was sipping wine from her grapes
when he wrote songs of despair, as they could not have each other,

i shake away my childish thoughts and doubt even more:
- what if they were traders,

trading the tigers, the bread,
the tyrants, the grim teeth,
the wine fields and hard eyes,
the lamb, the onions,
the hunger and the thirst,
the hours of eating the strawberries
and the blossoms on the great tablecloth.

oh, i am childish, 
jealous,
curious, and can not stop the thought of stolen tablecloths:
- what if when sad and lonely he put a spell on my mother?
and used her as a tablecloth for those who never loved, or cried,
and those who never turned the flour into bread.

Paris Cafe

lavender umbrellas
floral teacups
fancy china plates 
muffled conversations
dainty berry scones
crisp white doilies
shy looks 
wedge of brie
cucumber sandwiches
tiny titters 
chocolate truffles
crisp linen tablecloths 
caramel lattes
fragrance of the gods
Paris Cafe

It Was Mom's Way

I remember well those eyes that sparkled every year on Valentines day 
mom would adorn the dining area with red tablecloths and fresh flowers 
A beloved Cupid kept vigil by the kitchen window as she shooed us away        
from the melt in your mouth cupcake ganache, too soon to be devoured 

Music streamed from an old radio, Barbra crooning to "The way Were"
dishes set side by side, while her Fleur De Rocaille wafted in like a blur    
dad clean shirted and thankful bowed his head in prayer to St. Valentine, 
Patron Saint Of Love, after all it was his day and so we drank a little wine 

Years later she died but each Valentine's day dad brought home cupcakes   
we'd sit around the table and recall the years she would bake up gems  
it was a tradition we didn't have the heart to destroy, so we did partake 
each year as if she were still here. When the rose died, I saved the stem 

I recall her smile and the way she celebrated every moment of the day,  
Cupid gets stored every year but he always returns, it was mom's way. 

Feb 19m 2021

Them Times

I remember them days
When the bunting was hung.
From lampost to gate post
Was the thing to be done
Mis-matched tables
All together in a row.
Covered in tablecloths
Union jacks on show

All of the neighbors
Making sandwiches and treats.
I remember being so eager
To get my seat.
Then all of us would smile,
For there was so much food
We would be here for a while.

After we had eaten all that we can,
That's when the real fun and games began.
Mothers and fathers
All tied at the knee.
Racing each other was so funny to see.
We would race,
But stood in a sack.
I don't think I ever made it there and back.

The fun would continue
Right into the night.
With fun and laughter
And not one single fight.
I miss them times,
I want them back,
With my table full of food
And my union jack.

I'Ll Take the Gray Canvas

I'll take the gray canvas and paint it, 
To make life Shine a hundredfold. 
Every day I will decorate with a palette. 
I will weave pearls of rewards in them. 

I'll go through memory like a rainbow, 
Paint a black-and-white movie, 
I'll paint all the tablecloths white, 
And I'll throw my sadness away. 

I will erase the gray color from the canvas, 
Its texture will be thrown out of memory. 
I'll make a new hundred tomorrow, 
And can be in orange ornament. 

I'll paint a mental light bulb 
To burn them even in the night 
And they warmed my tender fingers 
And sent the sad away.

4th of July In Iowa

4th of July
Carnival magic
On the town “square”

Parade for the kids
Crepe paper bike spokes
Goats dyed pink by my Aunt Marjorie

Small town America
Fresh corn on the cob
Oozing with butter

Red and white checked plastic tablecloths
Blowing off picnic tables.
Cold watermelon slices

Pink cotton candy and warm funnel cakes
Joyful screams from carnival rides
Docile ponies for the three-year-olds

High school band
Concert in Gazebo
Sweat running down their backs

Children exhausted
Falling asleep on blankets
As the firemen set off fireworks at the park

Everyone leaves smiling
Perfect 4th of July
Just like last year

Spring of '78

furniture made of
cardboard boxes
enhanced with
tablecloths and towels

it was all i could afford
i ate rice with corn niblets
holding out till payday

i made do with what i had
worked hard for all i earned
and i was proud
it was my first apartment

i was young
things would get better

it was spring
and good times
around the corner



Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~TO BE YOUNG AGAIN~ 2023

AP: 2nd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2021

Posted on February 27, 2019

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