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With Great Finesse

I saw myself coming toward me.

And myself said you don't know me Any better than you know that stranger there Fishing for his breakfast on his yacht.

With Great Finesse

(Raanana, May 11, 2019)


Walking down a dappled path

On my way to the harbor for a cup of tea

And the smell of salt already in the air,

I saw myself coming toward me.

How's it going, I asked myself.

You should know, myself responded.

What do you mean, I queried,

Uncomprehending yet apprehensive.

You really have no idea, myself secreted.

Look, sir, you're far too cryptic

Before my morning tea's been drunk.

Myself agreed we'd drink a cup

Ere we spoke another word.

We reached the dock's edge

And found an unpopulated table with two chairs

Spotted by the spray of waves dashing rocks.

We signaled the waiter for two cups of Ceylan Black

Then I turned to myself asking what's this all about?

And myself said you don't know me

Any better than you know that stranger there

Fishing for his breakfast on his yacht.

Two teas arrived before too long

But by the time the cup was lifted to my lips

The Black was mixed with salty brine

Which suited me just fine.

One would think, mightn't one,

That from my privileged vantage point,

Being completely inside my own skull

I'd know more things about me

Than of my neighbor or some stranger,

Myself charged full speed into

The defenses of my ignorance.

I see no reason to doubt the truth of that,

I raised defensive barricades.

But if so, myself regrouped,

Do you feel sad or happy?

Not too much of either, I said wanly.

Then what do you feel? Myself thrust home.

I'm not quite sure, the match conceded.

My eyes did wander to another table

Where sat a lovely lass underlining

A line of poetry in a dog-eared book.

I wonder what poet she is reading

And what she underlined,

I said victoriously to myself with great finesse,

That is what I'm feeling now!

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Copyright © Copyright © 2010-2019 by Michael Stone

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