The chilled rain patters
on the tired canopy, Prussian blue,
stooped over the tavern patio
The sidewalk slick with the spilled beer
of regulars gathering for their nightly ritual
A song plays, its melody like gauze
winding around my hesitant heart
tighter than laces tied on a funeral shoe
Potted petunias nod as if listening,
fragile as an apology confessed too late
Orange light pools from the sconce,
illuminating the scribbled grocery list
Purple penned listlings insist
foil, lettuce, cheese,
louder than the faded pencil
Written on cherry trimmed stationery:
Wants, the calculated strategy
of a chess master about to lose everything
Needs, a beam of moonlight exposing
the bare windowsill where his board waits
We sit across a small meshed table, rusty
the silence adding to the haze of his IPA
Smoke curls around our truth
We don’t have to say it
And we don’t have to prove it
And in the rain,
beneath the careworn canopy
Even with the song unraveling
my cracked kaleidoscope past
I don’t question the life that we share