“Will you blow into this colostomy bag? Will you scratch an itch from under my arse, before you breathalyse me? I’m over the limit of the black stuff I drink. The coffee has gone to my head.”
She winced a smile from the side of her mouth, and waved me on my way.
Tag: coffee
Autobiographies
Autobiographies
I drank coffee over bacon and cheese
writing autobiography,
as easy to swallow as Rapunzel and Guinness.
The woman in a cream suit
shook gold earrings and munched
waffles from Idaho
soaked in organic maple syrup
with her mouth open
reminded me of my mother,
Paul, close your mouth when you’re eating.
I read the wine list
in the mirror
behind my back.
That was as difficult to do
as swallowing cod liver oil neat.
How many autobiographies live unwritten
within this life,
under the surface,
scratching for release
from Purgatory?
Am I lost in Dante’s wood,
or sunshine?
Is this Idaho real,
or escaping on the page,
a fleeting fairy tale?
I couldn’t catch her name.
This is pure cliché
This is pure cliché,
dappled wicker,
stone lit, shadows firm,
warmth of evening song,
comings and goings,
Spanish movements through the bar,
Bombay going down,
Schweppes on ice,
already a little pissed
– Martini Basarana Tanqueray
Ballantines Bacardi Beefeater
Jack Daniels Cointreau –
even the Cutty Sark is too much
now company’s gone
and “Prohibido Fumar” reigns
supreme behind the counter
– what price a coffee now?
[Galicia August 2010]
A moment
The coffee’s bitter here,
beans dark, roasted hard,
flavour for waking up
– I see Cezanne on the wall,
a fire extinguisher,
a smoke-free zone,
even water can’t soften the taste,
exploration calls,
echo of earlier conversation,
poplars wave, leaves flash,
sunlight shortening shadows
under apple trees.
A bronzed girl hangs her jacket
on the back of a chair.
(Galicia 6 August 2010)
I will drink sugar
I will drink sugar,
pour stars of glucose
onto a tea spoon,
sprinkle refined grains
on a surface of Galician
Espresso.
I will cherish the remainder
lingering in this sachet,
wet pad of forefinger
– licking softly –
before cleaning the counter.
I like to flick fallen sweet.
I will go back to my hotel room,
leave behind a night sky.
There’s Venus there,
Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn
reflected from sapphire bottle
Gin.
(August 2010)
____________________
Tomaré azúcar,
Echar estrellas de glucosa
A una cucharadita,
Espolvoreando granos refinados
En la superficie del café exprés
Gallego.
Gozaré del resto
Quedando en el sobre,
Almohadilla de dedo
-lamiendo suavemente-
Antes de limpiar la mesa
Me gusta chasquear dulce caído.
Regresaré a la habitación del hotel
Dejando el cielo de noche
Allí esta Venus allá,
Mercurio, Marte, Júpiter, Saturno
Reflejados en la botella de color zafiro
De Gin.
(Translation by a good friend who isn't a poet 2017)
At the same time
A woman leans
elbows on a counter,
bends her right wrist
reveals painted fingernails
ring on middle finger.
She leaves a teaspoon in an empty coffee cup.
———
At the same time,
a barista rinses stained cups in a sink,
heats a filter drip
lets water flush down a drain,
replaces a glass jar of Columbian
Tasting notes say
“stone fruits, milk chocolate, nutty”.
His hairy calves naked,
elbows sharp.
———
At the same time,
at a wooden bar,
two men play
‘Dungeons and Dragons”,
a fat crusty roll
washed down by tap water.
A woman in a floral dress
leans over, close,
demonstrates the best way
to lipstick both lips.
The men don’t ask to borrow her make-up.
——-
Bars explode and peter out…
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 