Sitting alone, but in the company of culture
Smiling.
The throbbing crowds
The chatter and clatter of cutlery.
Here amongst his own kind
Eager tourists.
Content in their unspoken bond.
But once in a while,
A couple leans over, American.
They break the vow of blissful silence.
Navigating the tricky meander of
Polite but broken conversation.
They share stories of sites,
Experiences,
Imparting knowledge and tips.
The Kellner comes with his meal.
He whips out his tourist guide,
‘Is that beef?’
The Kellner trembles as he struggles
For the word and
He quickly tugs the arm of another
For an explanation.
The tourist points to his book
‘Is it that?’
The Kellner agrees.
This compromise satisfies all
We all continue on our merry way.
The Tourist with his meal and book
The clatter and chatter continue.

It feels just like yesterday, whispers
a croaking voice inside, so familiar,
but ownerless, like that same white van
passed on every morning’s commute, a canvas
where somebody beautiful took the time to
spraypaint in pukegreen bubbleletters
“WELCOME TO HELL”, to
urban sprawl, or capitalism,
or something? Something, slinking like a
roach through rotting throngs of desperation
marching blind through subwaycar shackles,
carrying away the hopes of tomorrow on
yesterday’s dollar, building justifications
for plunder out of cold metal and glass…

eyes open. I open the morning door,
pierced by a crow’s shadow at
oppressive dawn. Bleary, half-formed,
each step out of the homeshell and down
the street feeling slowed down, like
the air has hardened into a sea of fudge,
saccharine bliss of ***** birds resembling
the endless sobs of the guilty, keeping them
down, today, locked up inside—

I have wasted years
apologizing for not being
enough to replace this futility—
I have no butterfly net
big enough
to seize the day.

On the far side of an idyllic fence
a groundhog darts out from a hedgerow,
barreling awkwardly, shamelessly,
away from the familiar cover of the underbrush—
Sparkling, from this distance,
playfully glazed with new sun
this shuffling ball of fur
hurtles through the empty field…

Why can’t I?
Stepping up and into
public transport, metallic husk,
the question remains, lingering
far after the sounds fade out.

--Graham Kellner