First Memory

Sitting in his chair watching the man with big pockets
he slaps the wooden tabletop, high, dry, and cool.
Brown shiny wood, very good for his hands to slap
so early in the morning on a new day.

A cup of cold milk is put before him.
But it’s all about the big pockets
All about his hands slapping the smooth wood
The cup tips and the milk spills across the table

Hands slapping his head, his chest, his back
Pulled from his chair and dropped to the floor
Then picked up and roughly stuffed back
Another cup of milk before him

He has to drink it now
Drink it now before anything else
Before big pockets, before shiny wood smooth
Before joy, before love, before all

 

Louis William Rose

October 2004