Breakfast At Nine

by Samuel De Lemos

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Lounging in bed
I just woke up.
I check the alarm,
I have a breakfast date
at 9:00
with my wife.

We’re staying at
the Inn at Locke House
Bed & Breakfast.

It’s a well lived in
Victorian Manor.

It reminds me of the time
I went to an antique shop.
Curiously looking at trinkets
And what not.

There behind the glass were
A pair of gentleman’s gloves
Soft and warm,
well worn in
and meticulously
Preserved.

The Locke House
Well guarded and
maintained,
If you close your eyes
You can hear the conversations
From those days.

Conversations undisturbed
by our contemporary gadgets.

Conversations that
last a life time.

Every word well pronounced.
Every word has a meaning.

Those words still linger
In the corners of this house.

People cared back then,
people cared about life.

The walking gardens
Verdant, watered
with people’s conversations
Under shaded persimmon trees.

Where frolicking butterflies
Find their playgrounds,
Where frogs croak at
Full moon nights.

“What’s it like to be in paradise”
Said, one toad to another.
“You’re looking at it”