This Is The Way It Was

In Paris, nineteen fourteen, sipping

aperitif at a cafe on a lazy afternoon

as the Krupps mobilize their monster

machines.

In Hiroshima, during a tea ceremony,

contemplating the ephemeral nature

of life seconds before a star bursts

outside the tea house, and 

contemplation becomes reality.

In Tepoztlan, election two weeks away,

great coffee, nice lunch, now, writing...

the power went out, but, that happens.

The townspeople will go to the cemetery

tonight, feast and drink with their dead;

the dead will come back this night to 

visit... at least, the drunk ones will claim

they were there. The dirt roads and paths 

in this town remind me of when I was 

three in Chicago.  

Closure.