AT THE SILARIAN CAFE

Summer’s Best in Show

We had dinner in that State of Mind
where the Sun rises over Albany.
The patio rimmed by sugar maples
was lit by garnet party lights
the garden fragrant
with lilac & rose bushes
bluebirds in the branches
ladybugs walking on the leaves
finding their own dinner.
In the stream a pile a sticks
a beaver’s starter home
a snapping turtle in the mud.
Over apple cider martinis
we peruse the menu, fresh caught
stuffed brook trout, local greens
angler’s fish stew with striped bass
bay scallops in butter, garlic, white wine.
For desert fresh apples, muffins
in cinnamon laced milk
as the sun sets in Buffalo.

[This poem won 3rd place in the New York State Fair Poetry Competition — like being the 3rd best goat or melon or something.]

SPATHE IS THE PLATHE

It looked more fake than the real thing.
                                          — Andy Warhol

The eclipse is on TV
the Great American Eclipse
they say.  I listen to Sun Ra
“Space is the Place” of course
where else is there?

I like the New Moon best
because I have to believe
it is there each month
just as the clouds challenge
my belief that it is the Moon
blocking the Sun, not
just storm clouds rolling in.

On TV the 8-year old says,
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
she has yet to see Prom night
the back seat of that Honda
a missed period, throwing up
in the last pew of church.

TV repeats the eclipse in places
no one goes to, instant reruns
the Sun & I have a Corona.

Watching the Great American Eclipse
on my computer is internet porn:
much better than the real thing.

In Carhenge Nebraska
200 miles from Nothing
239,000 miles from the Moon
who smiles to be so far away
93 million miles from the Sun.
Someone says, “It’s like
watching Day turn into Night”
something I do each & every Day.

In my backyard, even the birds
think it’s just another cloudy day.