Had You Been Here Today

We would have slept in.  I’d have made you pancakes and coffee (and oranges) and then I’d have lent you Hush, a jacket, a bag, some leggings, an extra set of gloves.  I’d have put away my sharkish tendencies for the day and matched my pace to yours.  We’d have ridden about the city, and done a few errands, including stopping at a bike shop for new whisper quiet pads for Hush (she loves them).  You would have been amused at the Tech Guy’s flattery.  Not directed at me of course – you’ve known for a long while how I dislike flattery as opposed to assessments.  However, when compliments are given to those whom I love, or to what I love (as in Hush) it’s another matter all together.  I’d have flashed my pleased and amused smirk at you when Tech Guy guessed Hush’s age, complimented her geometry, mourned the passing of her generation of reliable and accessible road-bikes, then, without any label to guide him, figured out she’s sporting relatively new Trek wheels.  After we left, I’d have shown you the Cathedral and some out of the way DC sites, and we could have amused ourselves by taking snapshots of them and the locals in action.

We’d end the bike tour at the Smithsonian, for the last day of an absolutely stunning Japanese woodblock print exhibit at the Sackler Gallery, plus the usual treasures.  Exhausted by the number of great pieces concentrated in such a tiny area, we’d have gotten a coffee from a vendor on the mall and sat on a bench while the sky got darker and grayer.  People nearby would have been talking about politics, society, all the good stuff – but we’d have just listened, attempted to find the common pulse of the various conversations, that secret word all crowds combine to chant. 

Back at my place, you could have showered while I cooked you salmon with (you suspect) chiles and tomatoes and a few things you couldn’t quite place (but as is the prerogative of the jazz cook, I’d have refused to divulge further information).  I’d have  retired for a bit to write a poem, leaving you to amuse yourself with some Merlot, a book of poetry I could have lent you, or whatever business you yourself had to attend to.  And then it would be night.  Or at least the evening, which would be another equally unwritten story, but not one I could write based on my own activities for the day.

Below is Night Snow by Ito Shinsui (1898-1972):

Comments

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I think this is a STUPID poem!
I know you can do better than that!
Sure you can!
This one you can Clean you ass whit it!
It´s the only good thing that you can used it with!
No ofence but this poem: STINKS!
Realy!..MY dog can whrite One BETTER!!
So keep triying..Couse maybe you can win my dog ok?
Buh Bye...LOVE YAH!!..Remember ,my dog is waithing!***