In the gallery cafe courtyard

Having licked the velvety jade
lining avocado rind,
a she-dragon refocuses,
assumes a cobra asana,
regarding us expectantly
with gimlet-eyed
attentiveness
reserved for the sole
occupants of quiet cafes.

An ibis fusses, fossicking,
more savvy than the saurian,
one glance down an arc of bill
enough to ascertain
there’s nothing at our table
worth the scavenging.

Tepid coffee, tepid water
fuel a brief exchange on zoos.
Something can be gleaned
from how another views
a small prehensile, watching him
and hoping for a crumb to fall.
The water dragon makes him nervous,
and the zoo-talk palls.

Nor is he charmed by winged seeds
that the rosewood strews about our feet,
propeller flukes of stalled attempts
at launching conversation, on a day
when minds aspire, but zeppelins
decline to rise,
grounded by a lack of helium.

Words ignite, but fail to fire,
stubbed out on the unvoiced thought
our only common ground is sourced
within the third conditional,
that absurd modality denoting
unreality, hypothetical
desire’s demise:

If you weren’t…
(younger/married/foreign)
If I weren’t…
(so burnt):
this subtext…

Still the water dragon waits,
impassive sphinx of spherulite.
Our dialogue is foundering,
the cups empty, the table bare.
She doesn’t know we haven’t
any crumbs to spare for her.


*

This poem was first published in the literary
journal 'Famous Reporter' vol. 41, 2010.