creature comfort . . .
seeking out the evening meal . . . the sunset . . . the walk
the bedding down . . . until . . . midnight . . . or . . .
the memories are so sharp sometimes . . .
I suppose it was an area set apart where lawn chairs
might have been stored although I don’t remember any -
an empty sandy box confined by open lattice panels
not solid enough to keep out the light misty rain
falling on us anyway in the shelter we’d taken
it was our habit to retire each evening after having
food and drink approximating an evening meal
to cuddle close and find solace in closeness
nothing more. just the simple chance to blend into another
meant survival sustenance to each
hard unforgiving ground was a luxury as it afforded
a time for stretching then spooning holding breathing
idle exchanges or no talk at all
bundled-extra-clothing-pillow talk . . . body warmth under
a private hidden night sky devoid of stress
a blanket of soft dark marine layer hiding us from all
our struggles and sins. peace and quiet laden -
we would have lain till midnight under the dampfall
had it not been for the flashing light of the foot patrol
scraping swinging over the sidewalk and bowling green
sudden haste and scrambling to the feet gathering packing
quickly moving on. memory is not sure where
we wandered off to that night - homeless each with a home
a door to enter . . . separate beds under other roofs to which
each would return at the Strike of Midnight
perhaps we only sat huddled-wrapped tightly together
pretzeled in the car seat or on a bench . . . against a palm
but I do know the clock eventually Did Its Duty until
the morrow’s cycle when once again we would be meeting
at our home by the sea . . .
I yearn still for that creature comfort
2009 Aug 3 11:11pm windnsea
the bedding down . . . until . . . midnight . . . or . . .
the memories are so sharp sometimes . . .
I suppose it was an area set apart where lawn chairs
might have been stored although I don’t remember any -
an empty sandy box confined by open lattice panels
not solid enough to keep out the light misty rain
falling on us anyway in the shelter we’d taken
it was our habit to retire each evening after having
food and drink approximating an evening meal
to cuddle close and find solace in closeness
nothing more. just the simple chance to blend into another
meant survival sustenance to each
hard unforgiving ground was a luxury as it afforded
a time for stretching then spooning holding breathing
idle exchanges or no talk at all
bundled-extra-clothing-pillow talk . . . body warmth under
a private hidden night sky devoid of stress
a blanket of soft dark marine layer hiding us from all
our struggles and sins. peace and quiet laden -
we would have lain till midnight under the dampfall
had it not been for the flashing light of the foot patrol
scraping swinging over the sidewalk and bowling green
sudden haste and scrambling to the feet gathering packing
quickly moving on. memory is not sure where
we wandered off to that night - homeless each with a home
a door to enter . . . separate beds under other roofs to which
each would return at the Strike of Midnight
perhaps we only sat huddled-wrapped tightly together
pretzeled in the car seat or on a bench . . . against a palm
but I do know the clock eventually Did Its Duty until
the morrow’s cycle when once again we would be meeting
at our home by the sea . . .
I yearn still for that creature comfort
2009 Aug 3 11:11pm windnsea
