The Last Coffee

It was our final midday coffee
Before the world had singed our ears –
Then, cupboard doors flew off, and whisky
And tumbler served to douse my fears
With flame – soon shooting horizontal
Across the sky while sacramental
Destruction drapes an ashen pall.
You looked at me – and saw it all
But kept your wits and rose to gather
The full importance: “Smoke, not steam
Is now your business, Rob. The dream
Of Pontius Pilate’s wife would rather
That Rome not face that man, the Jew.
And what’ll Seattle do to you?”


  1. Wonderful. Thanks.

  2. ditto, and what is the photograph of?

  3. Clare,

    Thanks for stopping by!

    The pic is a backyard shot from Robert Moran’s house – taken by the big guy himself (so they tell me).


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