ERATO PREFERS LATTE

My muse sits quietly
on the shelf over the counter
in the Café Espresso
at Barnes and Noble

nestled between 12 ounce bags
of Colombian Supremo and Kenya AA,
in the shadow of the plant
whose leaves reach out
to caress her cheek.
She whispers to me
between notes from the guitarist
performing on the edge
of the Music Department
hawking his new CD
to an audience there more
for the coffee and tea.
The philodendron scandens
nods approvingly
as I carefully tuck her
into the pouch
of my fleece jacket
for the long drive home.

SUNDAY MORNING

It is Sunday
we sit in the living room
each with our lattes
she brushing the cat.
I sat on the sofa
with the Sunday Times.
We are listening
to radio Hele Norge,
unsure why, the
Norwegian caroming
around our ears,
the speakers noticing
nothing different.
We’re not quite sure
how the weather is
in Lillehammer today,
but it’s sunny here.
Neither of us
pauses to wonder
what Archimedes would
make of it all.