How I miss

that hush from the Square

the dark oasis

contemplating my beer

as things come to a head.

The ancient waitresses

their surliness an art

bark the orders

through the swing of doors.

And at the bar

scholars of the academy

and everyday scholars of life

share the same expanse of polished wood.

I use to strain

to hear the bits of wisdom

old man Cardullo spit from

his cigar-studded mouth

the rancorous jokes

the cops told

huddled around him

in an enigmatic cabal.

And now

at this same corner

pretty boys on posters

smile,

with hardened torsos

and I am swept away

to wherever ... the crowd goes.

* Published in the Ibbetson Street Press