Poem – Second Hand Truths

One day back in February while I was in Moscow (Idaho) after my hermitage, my dear friend George Callihan and I were sitting out front of a coffee shop smoking and drinking coffee. The day was quite bleary, and rain would drizzle and then threaten a downpour every now and then. We decided it was the perfect time to co-write a poem. Anyone who knows either of us will quickly laugh at how well this captures the ethos of us both. We took turns writing the stanzas, though there was some sharing of ideas on certain stanzas. Perhaps you can decipher which voice is me and which is George. On second thought, they may be too similar for you to tell. πŸ™‚

The cold and wind and rain was grey,
outside the coffee shop,
We sat upon our chairs and smoked,
And hoped the grey would stop.

We looked around for sight or sound
Or anything with breath,
But we saw none, so here we sat,
And here we toasted “death.”

The metal chairs were fitting,
Though they laughed at our vain boast,
For they matched the blackened lungs
We used to realize our toast.

My yellow hat, your duster coat,
My friend we’re quite a pair,
Though passers by were soaking wet
We didn’t have a care.

Ah yes, it’s true, we sat and smoked,
And smoked and sat with flair,
I think the girls could not resist
The joy of our despair.

For as they passed each one would turn
And look with some disdain,
Although we knew they only wished
That they could feel our pain.

For pain, both you and I know well,
Can oftentimes be sweet,
And in their hearts the girls know too
And wish to take a seat.

We’d offer them a cigarette
And though they would refuse,
We’d tell them it’s the only way
To cure their black and blues.

They’d laugh and call us cute
But still their words betray their game:
For happiness masks true despair,
True sorrow births great gain.

Intrigued yet unaware they left,
They didn’t understand:
The truths we freely offered them
Were only secondhand.

And so we watched and smiled,
At all that passed us by,
Our offerings of truth and smoke
Accepted by grey skies.

Remember you can subscribe to these posts by email if you haven’t already. Leave a comment if you find something interesting or meaningful. It motivates me to write more. πŸ™‚

4 thoughts on “Poem – Second Hand Truths

  1. Ok, Caleb is the first stanza and George the second. Also, the yellow hat gives it away. Caleb wouldn’t wear a yellow hat.

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