Celestial Soda Pop

Reclining in a tired brown corduroy chair
Savoring each fizzy sip
Reveling in the shadows
Of dimmest amber luminescence
Nestled in a blanket of low chatter
Cuddling with the entrancing strains
Emanating from a modest stage
Flanked by tattered cascades of red velvet
Thinking in lively wishes
Processing as might a calculator
Inhaling the rich atmosphere
Exhaling insight and acceptance
Reading the unsaid
And reciting the unwritten

I think I may have found
My happy place

A Humble Observation

A plastic bag quivers in the wind
Its shrill thrashing hiss
More so imagined than audible
Resonates from across the parking lot

Weak and insubstantial, it coasts
Like a veiled phantom face
In ethereal moonlight
Ready to take flight

On the breath of frigid winter
It departs the callous pavement
Whisked forth from its purgatory
And behind the curtain of night

Heavy in the wake of this escape
Scarred by the breaks and tears
Of taking on too much at once
I see myself

My Name

A cup of black coffee stands atop a newspaper
Vivid aroma in a black-and-white world
Bitter hints of its momentary presence
Season my silent tongue
I hear the echo following each throbbing pulse
“Arthur”

A plane ticket rests in a black canvas tomb
Out of sight and out of mind
Plotting to change the channel in time
Its pallid face and sharp edge
Emblazoned with neatly jumbled words and digits
“Arthur”

A warm embrace is delicately delivered
From the past in the present
Going unreturned in the desolate terminal
As the fluorescence grows violent
The faintest murmur hangs in the atmosphere
“Arthur”

A broken whisper singes the receiver
From all the way across the globe
Its bonfire tongue crackling and pleading
Standing each hair on end
Like the unforgiving chill of thirty-six thousand feet
“Arthur”

It is the sound by which I am called
And the call to which I respond