Neither was what you might like to call handsome
These ugly men
One better looking than the other
Their conversation smothered in art
Talking about this & that
About the life they’d walked
There they sat
Together perhaps
Birds of a feather
Maybe
Sam showed her head, passed me a tea
Grateful
One had long gray hair
The other severely windswept
Hands either side of his chair minus a care
Wolfe Tone
Heaney…
Besides myself these artistic folk were the only others who spoke keenly
Will I end up like that
Perhaps
Sitting in a chair in my favourite coffee shop
With my own mop of hair
Going nowhere
Don’t seem to care right now
On I shall plough
The Leonard Cohen book beside me
Makes me wonder
What will it be
Fame, fortune…
Or a destitute state
Where all of my poetry gets the slate
Says as much for all Cohen’s worth
All of his sins
These ugly men will talk again
Coffee will flow
I don’t fancy that
Right now it’s all about keeping quiet
Remaining something of an ordinary joe

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