Monday, November 4, 2013

he stared out the window

recalling the time old Rafferty

in his humorous stupor

stood up to toast the waitress

ladened with jugs (her own and the brew)

and the moment he lowered his mug

saw the fist of the lass's boyfriend

fly square to his face

and knocked him square into the upper choirs

or roared as he told of the fight

that spilled from tavern to road

with fists and feet and teeth

tearing at every morsel of meat on the man

until a pair of nuns came gliding into view

on the roadside

(the look of reproach blowing over the land

and across the clyde as if an avenging angel

traced its flight in reflection on the ocean's surface

in its mission to destroy the world for all and good)

and the men broke their choke holds

and like little boys in the recess yard

picked up their caps and fiddled with the brim

heads hanging in shame as the sisters slid past

with the silent disapproval thicker than haggis

in the mouth of a sinner

and Lonette

who in the late spring twilight

lit a beacon of golden hair as the fireflies scattered

and in the dimness of the falling night

glowed in the quiet embrace of her man

tired after the travails of a day's work

and long years of the troubles

he stared out the window

the rheum in his eyes

sealing in the memories as the room filled

with swirling points of light

as he lifted into the air dispersing past the dark

into the ancient light beyond sight

riding on the keening of kin...

Content (c) 2008-2013 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

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