A Special Brew

Who is that?

Oh, I think I recognize
that jacket and your face.

Yes, you are the man from down the street
that I see each Monday
except for some weeks.

You say you like to travel?
Still, I hear you volunteer
at the local soup kitchen
someplace I’ve never been.

It’s you I’ve seen in the pews on Sunday
first or second row
which are the first to take
communion from the ushers.
Why thank you, I do enjoy the choir

and thank you, I bought it to celebrate the spring.
You’re welcome; the coffee is a special brew.
Wow, your hands are warm
and yes,
I love you too.
Yes, I will marry you.

This poem is not about anyone specific. I just wanted to write about how quickly relationships seem to progress.

Genesis

Are my ideas of love only pure imagination?
Can they be achieved?
Can this relationship become a trusty rope
or will it be thin string?
When will Isaac’s messenger come to find me
for my water buckets are filled and prepared!

Actually, a small dip in the well would do.

Alas. I am no Rebekah. I am only dead grass in winter
and I need your flowers and violin music to revive me.
I need the doves and the orange trees and sun to remind me
what summer is
for this citrus-less winter consumes me.