Late afternoon at the cafe.
On the railing overhead
Fat gray pigeons,
Sidestepping nervously to emphasize their remarks,
Gossip
While we sit in paralytic silence
Looking in different directions.
A splat on the table
Draws our gazes parallel
For perhaps the last time
At a gob of green and white swirl
As of unmixed paint,
Floral with impact
And already hardening into a symbol of our affair.
You lean faintly forward,
Raise as it were your lorgnette
And peer at it, dissatisfied.
The feathered whorl flutters
And recomposes itself
With the unmistakable levity of spring
While I settle back
Overcome by a splendid enervation,
Cross my legs at the ankles
And wait for the waiter
To come and scrape it off with a screwdriver.
But he is already hovering,
Waving the birds into flight
Before another anus can tremble,
Removing the mess with a single pass of his cloth
And replacing it with a Martini Rosso,
Which will have to do.
And speaking of
gigolos:
Robert MacLean is a bad poet and an independent filmmaker. His The Light Touch is on Amazon Prime, Tubi and Scanbox, and his 7-minute comedy is an out-loud laugh. He is also a screamingly funny novelist, a playwright, a blogger, a YouTuber, a reviewer of films, a literary critic, and a stand-up comic poet. Born Toronto, PhD McGill, taught at Canadian universities, too cold, live Greece, Irish citizen. Committed to making movies that don't matter. No brains, but an intellectual snob.
SOME VIDEOS:Boccaccio’s "The Husband" Boccaccio's "The Horse Trade" Boccaccio's "The Stupid Friar" Chaucer’s "The Miller's Tale"
On the railing overhead
Fat gray pigeons,
Sidestepping nervously to emphasize their remarks,
Gossip
While we sit in paralytic silence
Looking in different directions.
A splat on the table
Draws our gazes parallel
For perhaps the last time
At a gob of green and white swirl
As of unmixed paint,
Floral with impact
And already hardening into a symbol of our affair.
You lean faintly forward,
Raise as it were your lorgnette
And peer at it, dissatisfied.
The feathered whorl flutters
And recomposes itself
With the unmistakable levity of spring
While I settle back
Overcome by a splendid enervation,
Cross my legs at the ankles
And wait for the waiter
To come and scrape it off with a screwdriver.
But he is already hovering,
Waving the birds into flight
Before another anus can tremble,
Removing the mess with a single pass of his cloth
And replacing it with a Martini Rosso,
Which will have to do.
And speaking of
gigolos:
Robert MacLean is a bad poet and an independent filmmaker. His The Light Touch is on Amazon Prime, Tubi and Scanbox, and his 7-minute comedy is an out-loud laugh. He is also a screamingly funny novelist, a playwright, a blogger, a YouTuber, a reviewer of films, a literary critic, and a stand-up comic poet. Born Toronto, PhD McGill, taught at Canadian universities, too cold, live Greece, Irish citizen. Committed to making movies that don't matter. No brains, but an intellectual snob.
SOME VIDEOS:
Boccaccio’s "The Husband"
Boccaccio's "The Horse Trade"
Boccaccio's "The Stupid Friar"
Chaucer’s "The Miller's Tale"
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