Not enough said
About early afternoon coffee
My silver scoop, a trowel cutting black earth
You will join me; now it's an occasion
I say build a fire --
You furrow your brow.
Studying your new camera catalog
Getting ready to consume me with that big lens.
Sons spread around us, warm and industrious, birds studying what's beneath them.
The black table pitted and smeared with breakfast droppings
A messy sprawl of bags -- your family's gifts -- waiting for
tape and shears in the drawer that sticks from old paint
(they all stick)
While the squat black coffee pot pisses and smokes
like an old street man
From our days as two in that city of brotherly love
Where we found ours.