In later life I retired from poetry,
ploughed the profits
into a family restaurant
in the town of Holzminden, in lower Saxony.
It was small and traditional:
dark wood panelling, deer antlers,
linen tablecloths and red candles,
one beer tap on the bar
and a dish of the day, usually
Bauernschnitzel. Weekends were busy,
pensioners wanting the set meal, though
year on year takings were falling.
Some nights the old gang came in –
Jackie, Max, Lavinia,
Mike not looking at all himself,
and I’d close the kitchen,
hang up my striped apron,
take a bottle of peach schnapps
from the top shelf and say,
“Mind if I join you?”
“Are we dead yet?” someone would ask.
Then with a plastic toothpick
I’d draw blood from my little finger
to prove we were still among the living.
From the veranda we’d breathe new scents
from the perfume distillery over the river,
or watch the skyline
for the nuclear twilight.
|Apr 22, 2009||Where Man Is in His Whole||Hannah Zeavin|
|Aug 23, 2010||Where I Live||Maxine Kumin|
|Nov 09, 2012||When to the sessions of sweet silent thought (Sonnet 30)||William Shakespeare|
|Apr 22, 2014||When They Die We Change Our Minds About Them||Jennifer Michael Hecht|
|Mar 03, 2014||When There Were Ghosts||Alberto Ríos|
|Mar 07, 2013||When the Grandmother Dies||Fady Joudah|
|Jul 23, 2013||When Someone Says I Love You the Whole||Karyna McGlynn|
|Sep 23, 2012||When I Buy Pictures||Marianne Moore|
|Dec 23, 2010||When I Am in the Kitchen||Jeanne Marie Beaumont|
|Jul 27, 2010||Wheeling Motel||Franz Wright|