John-Ward Leighton

WORDS COMING

Photo ©Copyright 2007 by John-Ward Leighton

Photo ©Copyright 2007 by John-Ward LeightonUnder the sign of the cow
a portrait of Jesus or is it John
the tattooed girl is pleased to be my regular.
Tom Waites sings gravel low
asking the question,
“Where did the wild love go?”
Skate board girl
in skull and cross bone hoodie
hands plunged deep in pockets
as the saxophone
both
wandering in the aural landscape.
The outside world drips
in summer showers
as the day acts as if the sun
will never again appear.
The coffee goes down
both bitter and sweet
and the cream
congeals on stir spoons
on stark white napkin.
The poems sneak in
between the buses turning
at the cobblestone corner.
No tourists this morning
as they have gathered three blocks hence
cameras poised for the steam clock
to mark the non event
as it toots the hour.
Solitary like me
she cradles her coffee cup
and stares unseeing over the rim
at me
until she puts her cup down
and looks at glossy ads
for things she cannot afford.
Sad trees have given their lives
to provide this shit for brains
soon to be rotting in a land fill
near you.
The day stretches out from me
daring to be wasted
in whatever trivial endeavour
I choose.
I see the outside sign
and think to photograph
for illustrations sake.
But my love is wasted, basted and tasted
then washed down a chipped sink
and never truly contemplated.
The poem like haunting violin songs
wanders in the rosy light
of red brick walls.
At three quarter cup
my forty mile stare
draws a blank not looking anywhere.
My fingers touch my battered nose
victim of many a first punch fight
when my mouth had pronounced
many a loud and unpopular view.
Sometimes silence says more to the situation
than loudly voiced opinions
and I turn my hand
pen pointing upwards
and await the
words coming.