Monday, December 27, 2004

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Yes, twelve stories up. But no stories to speak.

At dawn the lights of night still lit,
From the west
A yellow light over the city.
On the eastern horizon,
A red blip, as yet only the top of the arc,
I feel my morning urge to pee.

Dark clouds gilded in red and gold.
Watching, alone, I wonder.
A few cars speed on the roads.
--and a siren breaks my only possession,
My peaceful, happy silence.

For a moment I deliberate—I should pee.
Shall I start the coffee first?
Or pee? I get out the coffee can,
Carefully measure out
Exactly four cups of water. Then,

Four heaping tablespoons of Brown Gold
Into the filter. I turn on the machine, hear
Its slight hiss as the water seeps through the grounds.

And make my way through the dawn-light in
The familiar apartment. I hear Maria sleep-breathing
In the bedroom. At last, I make my pee.

Yes, she labors, even in sleep.



MEK, December 2004