One, Please
“Just one, please,” I tell the hostess
who is new.
At the side José, the owner, says:
“Just one? No—you are ONE!”
The word pops into red and green confetti.
“Remember this, my friend.”
I try to smile: “One, please.”
Then I ask for a booth and watch
cars on Front Street head home.
When Vera says hello, I ask
if her son is doing better.
She nods, her smile shy
like early twilight.
I order a shrimp chimichanga
and a side of mole—with its spirit
sounds: the o of soul
and the a of angel.
Vera brings me a pint of Modelo
with its blessed o’s.
I squeeze the lime.
I sip and take my time.
*
Waking Early for the Long Drive Home
There is a round red glow
on a power line
over the parking lot
as if a world globe
balances there
aflame
where tapered sunlight holds it.
I wait:
a cardinal.
It stays there
as if content.
Why did I open the curtain
at just that moment?
*
Joy Be With You All
“I love unbearably sad moments,”
Robert tells Anne, his therapist.
Her eyebrows lower like a bridge.
“Like in Olive Kitteridge
a wife pulls away from her husband
in bed and says ‘I think I’m just done
with that stuff.’”
Robert shakes his head. “I shared that
with my wife and she laughed.”
“She did?”
He nods.
“But I’ve been wanting to tell you
I’m learning a new song on my guitar.
I keep singing the refrain:
‘So fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all.’”
“I know that song,” Anne says.
“Are you thinking of saying good bye?”
“Oh, no,” he says. “I just love singing
‘joy be with you all.’”
*
William Palmer’s poetry has appeared in American Literary Review, Ecotone, JAMA, ONE ART, The Summerset Review and elsewhere. He has published two chapbooks: A String of Blue Lights and Humble. A retired professor of English at Alma College, he lives in Traverse City, Michigan.