Rhythm Road goes slow on Sunday.
Lilacs full in bloom in the front yard
of old stone houses where ladies sit
in lawn chairs, sipping tea and telling me
how lovely it is to be in the sun
on a day like today.

Indians sit around the steps
of the men's hostel.
Across the street the boys lay on
the lawn and sit and play guitars
and eat sandwiches stuffed
with mustard and baloney.

And through the open door
of the Rendezvous Cafe
a waitress dressed in white
is refilling their coffee.
But I don't have the change on me
so I sit on the shady steps, write this down
and wait on my laundry.

Mike Sullivan

4 seasons, 20 some poems
poems that like drunk children jump
a few linX, phrases, and the odd, malleable editiorial
etching.aquatinting.viscosity printing.silkscreen.linocut
all that + computer
resume~ email ~ guestbook