Kitchens blessed with a certain
Iridescence – A jolt
From clandestine conduits
Like a flirtatious glance
Fired across a crowded coffee shoppe
At the pretty girl
With the cardigan sweater
And the knee-high leather boots
Quietly reading Sartre
To herself as she sips
A perpetual latte.
Lattes – Always lattes!
Sepia foam nestling
Affectionately on
The bough of her upper lip
Mouthing covert
Ontological grammars
Did she notice me?
No, she didn’t notice me
Why should she notice me?
Some cretin awkwardly gawking
From the table in the corner
Sipping his coffee
In his grungy ass white t-shirt
Even I fail to notice me
Sometimes. Like the mortar
Between bricks,
It’s just part of the
Entirety. But take away
The mortar, and the bricks
Have nothing to
Hold them together
And the whole structure
Just collapses
And that’s what happens
When I finish my coffee
And get up and walk out the door
The whole scene
Collapses –
In the scenery of the present
The scintillant halogen
Makes mirrors of the linoleum tiles
The refrigerator stands stoic and erect
And the cupboards ponder over
And over a manifesto of disconsolation
-r. miller
