First stanza: 2017.

Second stanza: 2022. 

Cara Mia

That cold March night

at the Burren in Davis Square,

with the Newcastle

and the chowder

and---yes---the main course

that would give any vegetarian

a nervous breakdown,

was more fun than a phalanx

of purple-haired skateboarders

caterwauling Belinda Carlisle tunes

in Old Church Slavonic.




That August afternoon

at the Red Hat near the Lindemann

with A-Bomb tending bar

and her trio of killer martinis

that could peel paint off the wall

(five ounces of gin in each drink),

and afterwards, at Max & Dylan's

the pitch-black oatmeal stout,

and the pie-eyed stagger-step

commute back to the 'burbs,

oh, yeah, good times, good times.

Poetry by Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 166 times
Written on 2022-08-12 at 09:58

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Your poems have natural flow and ease, almost an inevitability. But such ease doesn't come by chance, and I appreciate the deliberateness that lies behind the ease.

Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Funny how life can have unintended 'nurturing'! All my childhood was spent with a Father who was a 'Licenced Victualler' and/or publican. The consequence was that I have probably only visited a pub less times than the fingers on my hands in about sixty-five years! I understand the appeal, but it has different connotations for me. I appreciated the dual nostalgia though.