After Ordering

 

One thing I like about writing ... poetry or whatever ... is the surprise element.

I never know when a poem ... or an idea for a poem ... is going to leap out at me. Those are the ones I really like, as opposed to the thought which keeps tugging at my sleeve, day after day, trying to get my full attention.

Today's poem came to me somewhere in Ohio. I don't remember where we had stopped, or where we were headed ... probably just out for a lazy afternoon drive.

We'd found a quiet place, studied the menu, placed our orders ... and then the sounds of the place, the orderly movement of people in and out ... all of the activity began asserting itself.

I don't even remember whether I started jotting down some things then, or simply made some mental notes (risky business, because I sometimes have trouble finding them again), but the end result was a poem ... one that eventually found a home in a publication. 

The poem:

 

AFTER ORDERING

As I take my first sip

of ice-cold water,

I notice the sizzle

rising from the grill,

the soft clink of a spoon

hitting someone's glass,

an infant gurgling,

insistent, distant

beeping, then, at a table

just for two, a young

couple sharing a scoop

of vanilla ice cream

that's swimming

in a delicious, sticky

sea of strawberry syrup,

and I almost want

to change my order.

© 2006

(originally published in Capper's)

 

***

Today's word: sticky

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

I know what you mean, Helen ... even when a person tries to tune them out, there's still that certain drifting of sounds, a blending, usually, but sometimes a distinctive sound, a word or phrase, will seem to assert itself. Usually those go barely noticed and are soon forgotten ... but this particular time was different for me. I wish you pleasant, if casual, listening in the future.