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Poetry by
Michael
February 09, 2003 |
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Snowstorm |
I found your email at ten. That?s six hours of solid code gone by. I felt good and strong and mechanical. I wanted to phone you but the phone was busy ? mine that is ? again and again. Boots and a jacket lead me to the corner store. There in lamp light and blowing snow flakes, Jana (through the phone booth) told me you were asleep. Sleep well little kitten. Sleep soft and warm.
Too long was the stretch of work to slip into a new project. I ate soup and toast instead. It was warm and full of savor and brought me back from machine to savage. I believe that at my core, my biology is stronger then the cold logic that rules my mind. I walked to one seventy eight and had banter with the boys. Schmidt took me up on my offer and soon I had a good grip on a good pint. It was crowded and a little loud but there were lots of familiar faces. Faces full of smiles and life and vigor. I sat back and grinned at my perfect microcosm. I met a guy and his girlfriend. Brad is his name, and ? often as me ? he comes to the Queen?s Pub for Guinness and whiskey. Both of us in khakis and a sweater and small round rimmed glasses, laughed at having been seen so often and never introduced.
I walked home in a slow snow storm and whistled my perfect life as visions of you swam with the rolling snowflakes in my abandoned streets.
Sleep well little kitten. Sleep soft and warm.
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