last afternooon

We sat at the oyster bar at Felix’s
in the middle of a N’awlins afternoon,
eating fried food and listening to
the Chi-Lites, the O’Jays, even
Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes
sing Seventies soul as the smiling
shucker offered up oysters and
opinions, both free of cynicism.

From there, we wandered through
the shutters and smells of the Quarter
to Café du Monde, restaurant of the world,
for beignets and café au lait while
a street-wise incarnation of Sam
Cooke sang for smiles and tips.

This is the last afternoon of our first
twenty years: who knows how many
thousand and six hundred minutes
have added up to our story of two
common hearts, but it is a tale best
told in the small scenes that say
life with you is better now
than when we first began.

Peace,
Milton