The Familiar

[RiverNotch]

The Familiar


There is a kind of person who always eats
four eggs a day, who makes coffee for two
and sets aside half of the drink
for all those mornings when he or she
could not be bothered to carefully weigh
his or her beans and water. This person always sleeps
at nine, stirs at six, and goes to work
three hours after waking up. Their job?

Stretched out on a table is a leather
canvas turning paler and paler
as the hours come in. The chat begins
with that day's weather, then the crossword,
what comics are repeated,
before they move on to the major reports --
what movies are hits, which stars to court --
as jars, then cabinets, are filled.

At twelve o'clock, it's time for lunch,
at one it's time for tea. Always they heat
twelve ounces of water for their pot
of two teaspoons' worth of leaves rolled up
by some poor chap from China
and, without fail, they come to need
the toilet for right when they've done
with their strawberry jam and scones.

For evening leisure, sometimes they read
Beckett, but more often Pound.
"More often now do I reflect
on the little garden kept
by two dear friends of ours, too often dusted
during our visits with tar and ash
like a plate of Cafe du Monde's"
is how they hear the answer to

a simple "What's the time?"
"You know, the Jew

There is a kind of person who always eats
four eggs a day, who makes coffee for two
and always sets aside one half of the drink
for all those mornings when he or she
could not be bothered to carefully weigh
his or her beans and water. This person always sleeps
at nine, stirs at six, and goes to work
three hours after waking up. What do they do?

Stretched out on a table is a leather
canvas turning paler and paler
as the hours come in. The chat begins
with that day's weather, then the crossword,
what comics are repeated,
before they go to the major reports --
what movies are hits, which stars to court --
as jars, then cabinets, are filled.

At twelve o'clock, it's time for lunch,
at one it's time for tea. Always they heat
twelve ounces of water for their pot
of two teaspoons' worth of leaves rolled up
by some poor chap from China
and, without fail, they come to need
the toilet for right when they've done
with their strawberry jam and scones.

For evening leisure, sometimes they read
Beckett, but more often Pound.
"More often now do I reflect
on the little garden kept
by two dear friends of ours, too often dusted
during our visits with tar and ash
like a plate of Cafe du Monde's"
is how they hear the answer to

a simple "What's the time?"
"You know, the Jew