In full view of the books for sale.
Arriving late one boy takes position
as the grinning mediator, involved only
by not playing and with access to all the tiles.
This place, lined with spines of hints and names
lost once to golden notoriety, is perfect for this game
but they debate the existence of bonny
without checking once. Talk of Thai massage
is actually charming for their age: there's something
about the red leather sofas, the easy company
they keep. They're still talking words: horn isn't horny
just because of the crucial y, my toes and tea
exist now but are cooling fast. Talk turns to celery
while the boy without any tiles at all moves slickly
between them, easing letters into quiet conversation
and voicing devolve so all of them can hear.
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
A cafe poem for my day off.
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