I used to mock my father and his chums
for getting up early on Sunday morning
and drinking coffee at a local spot
but now I’m one of those chumps.
No one cares about my old humiliations
but they go on dragging through my sleep
like a string of empty tin cans rattling
behind an abandoned car.
It’s like this: just when you think
you have forgotten that red-haired girl
who left you stranded in a parking lot
forty years ago, you wake up
early enough to see her disappearing
around the corner of your dream
on someone else’s motorcycle
roaring onto the highway at sunrise.
And so now I’m sitting in a dimly lit
café full of early morning risers
where the windows are covered with soot
and the coffee is warm and bitter.
Hi Edward -Remarkable poem, Someone disappear around the corner of your dream like the sun during sunset, but is a lot of a sunrise still waits forward, who knows... :) But till you have the coffee still warm and bitter. 10..... Best wishes, Tsira
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
It is always fun and nostalgic to write, dream, think, or talk about yesterday. There is a little story that everyone loves to hear: the souvenir of yesteryear.