Speak Easy

It was easy for us to speak
of forever while sitting in
the misty fog of a St. John's morning.

We had been up all night
drinking Tim Horton's coffee
and listening to Great Big Sea.

You laughed as I tried to sing
the words to Mary-Mac in my
stumbling rhymless way.

I wasn't the under a balcony
serenading type.

At The Lookout,
I straddled a cannon,
and you took my picture
in the misty half light
of cold spring dawn.

I have the beat up Polaroid,
tacked on a cork board
on my wall.
It takes me back to 1993,
and Newfoundland.

I saw you today
with your husband,
and tried to remember
what we actually had.

We shared a love for Irish ancestry,
and an easy way of speaking
of forever.
Forever and love was easy,
like the misty fog
that creeps in on
a St. John's morning.