Friday, July 17, 2009

Poetry Friday - Valhalla


the prison of their loving: in a crush,
crammed in a booth, around a table with
the guys. loosened by beer, their elbows brush.
they feel their closeness, breathe each other's breath.

they talk about their grades and basketball
and girls and cars, you know the kind of stuff.
in a more perfect world, talk would be all,
but in this one it isn't quite enough.

if they could rise above their bodies' needs
they'd always stay here, clothed in glory, fresh
together, and rehearsing mighty deeds:
a world of words and visions, not of flesh.

the waitress brings another pitcher round,
not guessing in what guise the gods are bound.

[1978 or 1979]