Morning, Thinking of Empire

Raymond Carver 1938 (Clatskanie) – 1988 (Port Angeles)



We press our lips to the enameled rim of the cups
and know this grease that floats
over the coffee will one day stop our hearts.
Eyes and fingers drop onto silverware
that is not silverware. Outside the window, waves
beat against the chipped walls of the old city.
Your hands rise from the rough tablecloth
as if to prophesy. Your lips tremble . . .
I want to say to hell with the future.
Our future lies deep in the afternoon.
It is a narrow street with a cart and driver,
a driver who looks at us and hesitates,
then shakes his head. Meanwhile,
I coolly crack the egg of a fine Leghorn chicken.
Your eyes film. You turn from me and look across
the rooftops at the sea. Even the flies are still.
I crack the other egg.
Surely we have diminished one another.
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Submitted by allnerves on February 21, 2018

Modified on May 03, 2023

43 sec read
372

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABCDEFGHIJIKLMNOPI
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 743
Words 145
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 18

Raymond Carver

A short-story writer and poet. One of the best-known writers in the “dirty realism” movement. more…

All Raymond Carver poems | Raymond Carver Books

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