the professor

January 20, 2013 § 2 Comments

“it’s about all you can do, really”
that’s usually
how the nights talks
begin

most times, it’s how
they end too

I took the beer he offered,
nodded a thanks
and settled in to drink it slowly
and listen even slower

he went on
about squaring his deal
with whatever deities are
at the helm of this sinking
tub we huddle in,
coloring his phrasing
as only an artist can –
forty second songs
about dreams falling
away like petals in autumn

psalms about mortgages
and medical bills, woven in
scales and harmonies
in such a way
that they stick with you
for days

he poured a glass with a
perfect head and stared into it
as if the voice of
an oracle that only
he could hear
relayed messages
from long dead sages
from somewhere within
that ambered vessel

“I heard once” he said
“I don’t remember where,
but it went something like,
like, if you try to live your
grandparents religion
your are basically committing
spiritual plagiarism”
“I like that” I said
“yea” he said “me too”

then, I could see another shift
coming
his eyes foreshadowing
another turn in the conversation
so I slid a fresh coaster
out of the holder
waited for him to finish
tapping a pint
and prepared
myself
for another
long night
of learning

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