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Tryst Poetry by Greg Braquet |
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Tryst Poetry by Greg Braquet |
| Hiding in Lions |
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At the sidewalk Café we sit Stoic in purpose Like the two stone lions Outside the town library, Content to just stare onward And absorb the lives of others. Sentinels to what lies just ahead, And there is much lying ahead. Smiling lions? No. It is merely erosion, Experience smoothing lines To thin grins, a perception of joy. We dare not look to each other For fear of finding effigies peering back. What could be burning so? Dreams? Passions? Vows? We can only acknowledge simple logics, Basic conversation Tumbling off the lion’s rough tongue Consumed and all consuming: “The coffee is hot.” “Yes. It is hot.” But we never answer The burning question. We fear it so. What could be burning so? We are experienced. We are worldly. We are worlds apart savoring the gap As if it were the only Piece of shade on the savannah. Distance brings a strange comfort By reducing the need to touch The strands of gray in our manes. There lies our fear but also something more… We suspect under the stone lies nothing, Hollowness carved by a world-wise edge That cuts both ways on most days. So… Devoid of pride, we roar by saying nothing: “The weather is nice, today.” “Yes. It is nice.” At the sidewalk Café we sit And try our lying suits on for sighs. But we are not lions. Lions are not everyday cannibals. |