MATURITY
The afternoon in the stacks,
soft sofas, aimless browsing, unreliable clock
followed by a table in the cafe garden,
carafe of wine, herbed olives in a bowl,
sauntering downtown sidewalks at dusk
is become
a half-hour's test
of shopping and checking out
before the meter expires,
then home to broccoli and water,
nothing unhealthy, nothing
wasted, everything
perfect.
Bruce Tindall
Published in
Cumberland Poetry Review