each night I hear

the music rooms of that lost city

and picture you

among the palaces of Montezuma

or something close enough

 

just a thought, a touch

of that Mexican restaurant we made our

own

cheap sangria by the full carafe

 

a walk along the pier

and two black coffees

to finish things

 

a conversation that no longer has

any relevance

 

and I think of a requiem

of Spanish horses

the last tram

missed

 

and your hand in mine

 

this scrap of paper scribbled with thoughts

that once meant something

blown off

and up

by late night traffic

on the long walk home

Share: 
Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Share on Reddit
Pin It
Embed

About Ben Adams


Follow
Ben Adams is a writer, poet, servo-clerk and voicer of opinions both sophical & philosophical. History & English major with a part-done PhD on the work of Charles Bukowski. In short, a walking cliché. A feminist and postmodern humanist, he comes from Adelaide, South Australia, which Salman Rushdie once described...read more as a sleepy conservative town (of 1.2 million) and “ideal setting for a Stephen King novel, or horror film.” Much preferring the work of Stephen King to that of Mr Rushdie, Ben takes this as a compliment. A fan of both cynical disgust and idealistic nostalgia, a few of his other favorite things include coffee, trains, Mexican food and the music of Bruce Springsteen.
2 comments
Discussion
  12 months ago · in response to Dan Jacoby

    Thanks Dan, glad it struck a chord.
  12 months ago
brings back strong memories

People who liked this also liked

Detroit Sunset

Poem of the Week

Dumb as a Box

Story of the Week

Bottom of the Ninth

Poem of the Week

Dumb as a Box

Story of the Week

Bottom of the Ninth