In a Saturn Cafe Far Away

Two night shift workers,
Harried and grizzled,
Churned away cleaning
Dismal booths, deep fryers
And dank corner’s funk.

The waitress cued up the juke,
Her choice tunes blasted out.
The baker moaned in complaint.
“Do you have to play this crap every night?”

The waitress came back,
“My boy, it ain’t crap,
Just you wait and see how
One distant day, you’ll hear this song play,
Your memories will stray back to now.”

The baker moaned, “pshaw,”
Bent his elbow to scrub,
Worked his way through,
Music tuned out of his mind.

Many years later
That once former baker
While shuffling through music
Chanced upon the same song.

“Damn you. You’re right!”
That once former baker
Shouted with respite and spite,
Then listened to it all day long.



A place, a time, a group of people that will never happen again, that is one of the hardest parts sometimes of moving onto the next adventure with a semi-nomadic lifestyle. For a while we achieve a state of being with trees, each other and ourselves that works. Ties are tied; a quantum web woven; yet that web may never come together again. Yet the threads stay bound.

All spiders weave new webs, though a few old strands remain to connect a pair of spiders here and there to one another. The only problem is that a huge windstorm can catch those spiders as they stream their webs out. The gust blows those spiders to the four directions hopping currents and out across the seas. A long time to back track that safety line….

But as with all things, that thread eventually comes to an end.