6/20/2018 0 Comments Poetry By John GreyIN THE COFFEE HOUSE You read email, between sipping lattes. Coffee and correspondence - the beans, the bytes, that dreams are made of. People take the time to grow the beans. Others break away from their schedules to tap out a few words of affection. Some guy slaves all day in the searing heat, plucks away at trees for farthings a bushel. A woman bites her tongue down on all that you did to her when you were together, finds, still beating in her battered heart, a few well-wishing words. A lot of pain got you born, and some heavy sacrifice, none of it your own, steered you through college. The coffee house is on the ground floor of a twenty story building. Three men died in its construction. The young girl who served you is sick, has a rotten headache, is almost out on her feet. She'd go home but she needs the money. You keep an eye on the leased BMW in the parking lot. You're under the impression it's what got you here. JUANITA AND JAKE They rode all over California avoiding the cops. She laughed and screamed like a Spanish banshee. Suddenly he drove into a retaining wall like a bomb. He crawled out of the wreckage as slithery as any reptile. A second-hand Ford melted then cooled. For a moment, she had this vision of being the automobile, coughed off some Detroit assembly line. with tattooed doors and straggly busted windowpanes, worn down by the raging buttocks of teen-age romance. The specter of her fruit-picking ancestors wept over her. Bio: John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Evening Street Review and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, Poetry East and Visions International.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
April 2024
Categories |