Lunch at Mayson Kayser
Bread and Olive Oil
Great Mixed Greens
Portraits by our Waitress/Photographer
Happiness Up Close
Goofin' Around Selfies
Too serious? Better.
Say tomorrow doesn't come
Say the moon becomes an icy pit.
Say the sweet-gum tree is petrified.
Say the sun’s a foul black tire fire.
Say the owl’s eyes are pinpricks.
Say the raccoon’s a hot tar stain.
Say the shirt’s plastic ditch-litter.
Say the kitchen’s a cow’s corpse.
Say we never get to see it: bright
future, stuck like a bum star, never
coming close, never dazzling.
Say we never meet her. Never him.
Say we spend our last moments staring
at each other, hands knotted together,
clutching the dog, watching the sky burn.
Say, It doesn’t matter. Say, That would be
enough. Say you’d still want this: us alive,
right here, feeling lucky.
(The Conditional by Ada Limón)
There was no dog
Just us two old friends