Weet-bix rugby stars and Starbucks
escort me and the nightsky journal.
I could leave this island universe
in 50 million light years.
Take away coffee takes me to a beach log
in dog-slobbered jeans.
This is our last lap of the Milky Way
so we carve names in driftwood.
God’s cloud sails past, as wind tweezers
the coffee cup from my hand. Stars
unravel rope ladders for dreams to ascend.
Back home, under van Gogh’s Starry Night
I find the iron pot constellation
filled with yesterday’s rice.
I am the Tuesday Poem editor this week. I posted a poem by Robert McGonigal, a friend and poet who, sadly, died a few years ago. You can read it by clicking on the Tuesday poem quill to the left. I thought I’d post another of Rob’s poems here. The photo above is of me and Rob in Berwick, on the English-Scottish border, taken (by Peter) on a fun and happy day.