Cedar Avenue Bridge

'And would you', said the lovely maiden
in Minnesota's early hours,
where in deep snow moonlight was fading,
'come up and have a drink, your flowers
do need a vase and CPR.
No, I'm okay, I live here, 'member,
and never stray or go too far,
I LOVE the snowstorms of December
and am surprised that minus twenty,
for one not used to it like you,
has not exhausted you, there's plenty
whose lips and ears would be dark blue.
It's something to be much admired,
when, after walking here all day
that you would not be deadly tired,
you'd only want to hit the hay.'
I thought that I did like that thought
and that my prospects looked quite good,
a strange fatigue that I had fought
much earlier, I'd feared it would
come back to trip me, keep me guessing.
I trapsed around all goddamn day
to end up here, receive her blessing,
to have a drink and maybe stay!

Upstairs we went, the place was heaven,
and half the room was one big bed,
it now was quarter past eleven -
ten hours after we had met.

We had that drink, it was Jack Daniels,
it hit the spot in my insides.
My memory recalls two Spaniels
that barked next door. Where Mum resides.
We'd shed some heavy outer layers
and kicked our boots against the door,
a statue of the great Nay sayers,
of Minnetonka graced the floor.

Soft music, it was Aznavour,
the logs were mesmerising me,
ice from the porch, Jack Daniels pure,
I placed one hand upon her knee....

So, what on earth was (somehow) missing,
that tiny but so crucial step,
from idle talk to eager kissing,
if there was tide then this was ebb.

We had a studious conversation,
Kristin, it was a Nordic name,
had turned the start of my vacation
into an arctic winter game.

And soon, the bell would have its toll,
the sweetest voice one could remember,
recalled me from a leading role
in dreams of love, the Queen of Slumber
had not released her yet to me.

I briefly wondered what if any
activities had broken free,
I was quite young, had not known many
long mutual nights, with Uncle Jack.
I saw the bottle then and knew
that we had slept on that big sack,
like tired people always do.

Thus, smiling, faces bittersweet
had scrambled eggs and wrinkled bacon,
and 'wondertoast' and silverbeet,
that's what she had.
But godforsaken, and noticeable urges rose,
we did the dishes, me the drying,
outside the Mississippi froze,
when she remarked 'I would be lying
if in this room we will remain,
look at that snow, the sky is blue,
don't you agree, we'd be insane...
so would you like to see the Zoo?

Across the Cedar Bridge, then right,
about eight miles, one way it is,
and should we take my Chinese kite? '
Stood on her toes, one tiny kiss
and off we went to that damn Zoo,
another day, now minus thirty.

And yes, the bloomin sky was blue.
Kristin was happy, rather flirty,
and what a day it was, so WOW!
Arriving 'home' just after dark
I was preparing, thinking how
once past those ugly dogs that bark,
I'd stay awake for sweet erotics
another bottle of old Jack
requiring only plain robotics
and one can drink Jack on one's back.

The same routine today, with supper,
I peeled potatoes in a hurry.
We ate from fake Wisconsin Tupper,
the meal was cardboard taste plus curry.

Then we relaxed close to the bed
me thinking of the time invested.
My body felt like it was dead,
and, once again, oh MY.....you guessed it.

by Herbert Nehrlich

Comments (5)

This poem should also prove to everyone that the Trolls give out 'ones' without even reading a work. This kind of person has no place on this site. This is a wonderful poem and it is a slap in the face of every poet here for such excellent work to be denegrated by a 'one'.
10 from me too. You are the best story teller on this site. No one comes even close.
Loved the story. I've been there and you made me homesick. Fine tale too.
A wonderful tale that held me until the end. A 10 from me Good wishes Chrissie
Herbert are you having a (1) problem i thought i had exclusive rights to the figure (1) this poem in work alone has to be at the worst at least a 8 or 9 it must be the insidious group of anglo saxons, wait where anglo saxons is there any more yorkshiremen left, i thought the ripper ripped them that was the woman, wasn't it anyway i think your worth a ten Warm regards Allan