SAYING JUST THIS MUCH
After a late night with Turkish coffee
the poet looks into rhubarb cooking
on the stove. Wasn't me. I'm shelling
peanuts out back. For all my talk
of spring oolong, I'm closer
to Dostoevsky returning from curative
waters heading towards the roulette
table. Shade grown cherries
from Central America roasted
for caffeine's bitter salvation.
If I have to choose, belief, or truth
in all its empirical data, keep me
from all hints of what's useful--any
utilitarian angel. Wedded, I am,
to a different scroll.
Jim Bodeen
15 June 2020
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