Cold Cereal at Midnight

 

Old+Man(1)

for Yvonne…

Cold Cereal at Midnight

After the cook left his shift
of grilling on a stove
what used to graze in fields…
and of frying in hot oil
what used to swim in seas…
he walked New Orleans districts
in a steady misty rain
that inked the streets to black.

Sour purchased gaiety
drifted from the bars
in alcoholic muddles
of beer whiskey wine.

Thin women stood in doorways
where neon spilled its smears
red green yellow pink
on the glistening  sidewalk.

At home he sat coatless
eating cold cereal at midnight
by an open window
where he could breathe the solace
of star jasmine  in the garden.

Bonnie Marshall

Art by Pino Dangelico

 

13 thoughts on “Cold Cereal at Midnight

  1. This is a conversion poem of the highest, most subtle, and quietest order: may I suggest, Bonnie, that you make these “best of” titles (if possible) into live links along the margin of this blog? Easier to get at them. My goodness, what a strange-making beginning, “of what used to …” twice, a refrain that reins us up, just like the word itself (which means both cease, and repeat). No wonder you write this stuff.

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