PoetryRepairShop MM.01:004 BILL CARROLL A Last Cup of Coffee There is a cup of coffee That will be my last. I will not know it at the time. Then there will be no more. A final time that I make love Or cross the hot street cursing rude traffic, That I hear the cardinal's clarinet Or pound a nail crookedly into obstinate wood, Trace the moon's corona with my common finger Squash a deer fly into my scalp Scold my son's daughter's son Or caress my daughter's son All of these things I love or am bitten by. Through my losses I have come to see My blindness To signs and omens. That I rarely know when to bid goodbye. There will be a last time For the loud hour and the tiptoeing second All of the things that I do not even note Then each will stroll quietly away One by one Neglecting to me that they will be gone.

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