Lemonade and Lobsters     

for Susan  

Lemonade and lobsters are seasonal
It says so on the menu. 
Red zinger and jasmine on the other hand 
Are not served on the premises. 
Music and conversation sometimes define time 
While twilight comes and goes 
And it is already flashes of eyes. 
The heavy-handed, they need some sleep, too. 
It is not always a matter of life in a looking glass. 
Exclamation marks! 
They stab, also. Though not like Love’s strange looks. 
The rain is pouring down 
Through a grate in the courtyard 
And cobblestones reflect the wet outdoor colors, 
Against the surface of our droll interior monologues. 
We become gargoyles. 
Some lower their eyes at the bright sight. 
Some respond terribly shaken. 
Perfumes. They catch backward glances. 
The eyes turn to the shadows. 
You brush the galaxy away from your face. 
There is romance in all of it. 
A green door is opening. 
It is raining. 
It is yesterday. Yes, I will have lobster. 
It crawls on your bib not unlike a red orchid. 
I have known no sweeter sauce 
Than that of soppy youth. 
What is out of season, I make it a special lunch. 
The wine is aged. It comes from ancient blood. 
I should have known its potency. 
Now, the lunch is ruined. For the love of you. 

  From New Poems 
  © 1992 Yuki Hartman 

Yukihede Maeshima Hartman was born in Tokyo, and emigrated to New York in 1958. He has worked as a television repairman, a massage therapist, and a systems analyst in the New York area, while studying philosophy and literature at various universities. He currently resides in Manhattan with his wife, the painter Susan Greene. Hartman’s poems have been included and anthologized in publications such as The Portable Lower East Side, New Directions and Tamarind. His is one of today’s most visionary and complex yet highly readable voices. 

Links

The New York School

The Poetry Project