The Cafe Review

Franz Wright
You Can’t Miss It

Most I loved
the secret
sense of being a we;

of living in two
places at once (or
everywhere).

How I learned to bear
euphoria
in time.

Which made me patient,
kind and sad.  And so
I took a look around

in glory, I stood
gazing down at the world.
And I saw how it was —

I saw my own
irreparable role there.
It was then, right then

I should have prepared:
I should have set out;
put on the mirrored armor and returned.

Michael Palma
Fog

Sometimes, like an old clipping
I carry around with me,
I unfold the time we went,
For no particular reason,
For a weekend on Cape Cod.
We’d driven all day long
Through wet and dirty weather.
Fog had begun to cling
To everything by the time
We came to our motel.
We couldn’t see a thing
As we crossed the empty road
Hand in hand, except
A misty blob of moon
From the streetlight overhead.
Once in the restaurant
We settled comfortably
In the corner, just as we
Had settled into years
Of marriage.  Later on,
In the fog – heavy air
On the motel balcony
We looked out toward the ocean.
Though nothing was in sight
We knew that it was there.
By then I’m sure we were
Too tired to touch.  Just one
Unmemorable night
I remember now and then
And think of, happily,
For no particular reason.

Machines are our companions
where we’re going
machines are our companions

all stainless in their
steely skin

cold, and so
conclusive in their sadness

already we are not alone

Machines are our companions
in an age of information

all clockwork, inconspicuous
machines are our companions
in a landscape like no other

Machines become our witness
as we’re going
Machines become our witness

and Machines will keep
our history, after all