Night One, And Too, etc.

So the first night
of too
I was a bit distracted
(didn't know until later)
and not quite ready and
it was too dark
too much on my mind
too much wine

in vino veritas,

too much truth,
too much wine,
too much time
on both our hands and
a world of things to complain and
laugh about.

So, it was only a warm-up,
I guess,
for night two, too,
but we still manged
four point five hours
of non-stop conversation.

Not bad, we said,
not bad.


Night two--
jolly mariachi band
in a dim basement bar on bathurst
and times may move on,
but they never seem to change.

I can't remember much
of the music
or what was said--
covers of the Gypsy Kings, i think,
ideas about who we loved the most
in the world and
things that reminded me
of the old country that i've
never been to,

and it's all slowly emptying itself
of meaning and
substance but
this pre-dawn morning is open-ended here
in Parkdale or
back in West Broadway where
Jean Luc sleeps in his garden and
Trixie sleeps on her couch
not yet noticing that I've gone

and we barely notice the band here
or the cold air when
we step outside for a smoke
hardly notice the clock that says
227
as we walk back to Clinton St
(resisting the urge to quote
Famous Blue Raincoat)
arm in arm

and i think,
no,
i know,
the world feels right
at this moment
and it's good to be here,
to be alive,
i think,

but i haven't had time to process it yet
because since we met up
four and a half hours ago
we haven't stopped talking and
the world might not slow down
or wait for us, but for tonight,
at least,
it's one beer (we swear)
that magically triples,
mariachi band
playing their hearts out
under their oversized hats
and under the radar of our
endless dialogue on
life, the universe, everything,
and the answer, anyway, is 42
and there is no answer and even if
there were one it
wouldn't matter because
we'd just keep on talking
talking
talking
anyway.

(My review: 4.5/5 stars)