Maple

A man walks by with a Bayer logo bag over his shoulder
I'm in the corner wondering what he's got in there maybe
something for the music in this place with its relentless
heartbeat I myself don't know what I'll do meantime here
in the corner between sips of Americano writing
whew it stopped or rather now it's strung out to dry
in long guitar gently working up to saying it in strings
outside on the way here the wet rounded setts where
First Avenue meets the brow of hill descending
into Pike Place Market a five-ton truck its mouth open
jaw rising up and down in shudders the steel plate
lower lip holding two men holding an empty cable
spool one loses balance steadies himself the other
looks away another on the ground holds an edge
of the big wooden construction what a coffee table
that would make for a giant found furniture is so
passé I suppose at least in the First World today
I live in the Fourth always last writing till it's
time to go today dressed for rain the maple
what kind of red outside the hotel this morning
moreso in the absence of bright sun as Ruskin
liked to point out more pronounced more
beautiful more rich vibrant and alive
on a gray day not cancelled out nor diminished
by bare bulb brilliance even the banana I bought
on the way here Give me 25 cents he said
seemed questionably ripe though I was drawn
to its rather gray pallor and sure enough
upon peeling it perfection put a spring in my
step in November now I don't care about
the synthetic digital percussion coming
through the air where's the speaker
and you know what the barista said
he said he likes the sound of the word
donut the sound the word makes
rather a dull thud though softly I said
not a ring to it though there is a ring
and an emptiness in both word and donut
but getting back to the maple not blood red
nor embarrassed or flushed not a high
pressure red more a force that rose up
and emerged all the leaves of April
May and through till now gone in fire
but here the flames green gives us at the end
life all by itself saying change change
I did it all year long why can't you
and if you don't believe me take this
and that take your photographs
the ephemeral temporal fleeting
here today and gone with a heavy
frost moment take it and fill
your boots with fire light up under
the cloudy sky waiting for passersby
to notice your feathery suspensions
in the next riff and the next
strumming right along now
knowing it won't be long
but while it lasts call it
maple song

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The Barista