love and the old poet

Love and the Old Poet.

I have been eating roast chicken & salad,
and drunk a litre mug of red wine, in
the café where the owner drives me home,
if I’m inebriated, instead of throwing me out.

The waitress, who is young and a daughter
of the landscape, fully formed and rounded,
tells me I have been drinking a whole litre
of wine with my meal,

I feign surprised and I say: “are you sure?”
My dear, I’ll not dream of arguing with
you, just give me a glass of red wine and
cup of coffee…please”

She brings me that, but I play hard to get,
I know she loves me, in her adolescent
ways, when she bends down and kisses
my bald head; I smile and hide my desire