At the Terminal

Paul Bourgeois, Sept. 30, 2016

 

sipping

octogenarian coffee

wrinkled fingers enfold

espresso cup

 

weary mind as sharp

as it will ever know itself

watching as

the ferry docks

 

flags wave blue and white

like clouds and sky as

platform slams and bodies flow

across the threshold to the paradise laden horizon

 

he coughs because he

always ends up back at this same coffee shop

waiting for the next so he won’t

be taking it this time

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