to me, to you, to be with you.

Oh How I wish, just one more kiss…

To stay forever,

to be more clever…

To find new words,

to fly with birds…

To know we flew,

To be with you, forever.

Advertisements
Published in: on March 12, 2009 at 5:00 am  Comments (10)  

Hello, Soup! newly edited. not perfected

“Wow, that looks good.” the old man said to her plate of chocolate chip pancakes, leaning over the gap between booths.

“That looks real edible!”

Wink.

“I know, right?” I replied, widening my eyes at her plate and smiling back.

To which I was offered a bite.

I wanted nothing to do with that whip cream covered pile of stomachache. I just wanted to agree.

We went back to talking. Sipping coffee.

She looks so cute when she listens to me talk. While she eats chocolate chip pancakes.

“Hello, soup!”

Dead in my tracks, I looked over at the old man. The old man who greets his soup.

Chicken soup. And he looks thrilled.

I looked back at her. Then back to the old man.

Back to my coffee and our conversation.

“Hey, Pete! Everything is under control here, Pete!” he is yelling across the restaurant to no one I can see.

Back to stir fried vegetable. Back to chocolate chip pancakes. Back to coffee and conversation.

“Here! Look at that! Tell me the date on the back of that.” He hands his waitress a lightly browned picture.

“Fifty-five” she tells him.

“June second, 1955! Yours truly! Can you believe it?!” wide eyed and staring openly at her. “Been married forty-seven years!”

Now he is laying out more pictures across the table facing the aisle.

I take no care in making it subtle that I’m watching.

“God’s speed, I wish him god’s speed, that president Obama!” He is talking to no one in particular, but I’m listening. Its impossible not to.

“Eight glorious years ahead of us, yes sir. Eight years behind us, mmhm.”

I raise my coffee cup and smile to him.

His smile widens and his chest fills out.

“Anyone who voted Republican in this year’s election they should be examined in the head, I tell ya.” Tapping a thick finger against thin grey hair, looking over at me.

Smile. Wink.

“I hear ya.” I tell him.

I have abandoned my vegetables at this point.

“It’s the lack of jobs that’s scary, I tells ya. How is people supposed to pay their mortgage, their utility?”

I nod.

“Hey leave them to their food.” The hostess shouts over to him from my right with a smile as she counts out something I can’t see.

Apparently he is a serial offender, wanted for disturbing the peace in small town coffee shops around the nation.

“Hey! Come on now!” He protested. “Me and my friend here, we’re just talking. We voted for the same man, see?!”

Smile. Wink.

I raise my coffee mug and look at her in accordance with my friend.

“We’re comparing notes here is all.” He explains. “You got to do that, you know?”

“I agree, my friend.”

I think I see a smile from the woman behind him.

Smile. Wink.

“Talking is a dying art.” I tell him.

“Oh, absolutely.” He agrees.

For a moment he is back to his soup. I am back to my stir fry.

I get up to go to the bathroom.

When I get back he is showing her his Catholic Charity detonators card. “Worth its wait in gold, it is!”

“I’m sure it is.” I tell him with a smile.

Smile. Wink.

“And this is a Christian nation! And I don’t care what any old SOB tells you different. And if they do.” Pause. Serious look. “You have my permission to pop them right in the nose. Man or woman!”

I think I have lost my balance here. I can’t help but start giggling a little.

Our check comes.

He is starting to look a lot more serious.

“And 30,000 illegal’s in this country. That’s the dam problem.”

He looks behind himself. Ready to rally more support.

I smile at him.

She is looking at our check and I say it’s probably time to go.

We stand up and I thank him for the talking.

“Enjoy your meal, sir.” And I nod at him one last time.

We pay our check and leave.

Its cold and snowy outside, but the flakes are soft and dance around in the parking lot lights.

We get in the car and start to drive away. I keep thinking about the evolution of our conversation with the old man.

She grabs my hand and says to me “even if he was a little crazy, wanting to punch non-Christians in the nose and what not, it was still fun.”

“Oh, for sure!” I say.

“I hope you’re like that as an old man.” She says. “Sitting in coffee shops telling people how long you have been married.” She smiles big and hopeful at me.

and I say, “I just hope I remember to greet my soup!”

Published in: on March 3, 2009 at 6:28 am  Comments (9)