Quarter Past Midnight at le cafe de nuit 

Quarter Past Midnight at le cafe de nuit 

inspired by Vincent van Gogh’s le cafe de nuit 

Vincent’s tortured paint has drawn me 
To a place I would never go, 
Now that saintly solitude has become my solution.
But then of the six people in the cafe
Only a man and a woman back in the left corner 
Sit together, 
Sharing a bottle  
& whispers, I guess.
Later, after they leave their empty glasses,
Will they stay together or shuffle down 
The solemn streets alone?

A man slumps at the table nearest the couple, 
No glass or bottle on his table.
A bottle, half a drink, & three empty glasses stand
On the table near the slumping man; a carafe, an empty
Bottle & two half-empty glasses on the next table
As I travel towards myself marking the abandoned tables. 
A pool table casts an unlikely shadow over too much floor,
& a man has risen from his chair, stands by the pool table
Gazing at me through the troubled paint.  
Shying away from his eye,
I mark behind him another table holds a half-full bottle
& a full glass, probably his bottle & glass.
The last two figures also slump, also without drinks.  Sitting
Catty-cornered they seem to face each other, having 
A less than intimate conversation.  But then they, as well
As the first slumper, are perhaps sleeping, likely homeless men &
these tables their only warm bed.  
I wonder if Vincent knew.

The Night Cafe—a place I could not go:
Those red walls & green ceiling & friendly lamps
Hanging down & the booze bottles 
Standing brazen on a cabinet 
Against the back wall; a curtained 
Doorway suggests someone
Lives back there behind the cafe, 
Unless, of course, I’m turned around
& that is the entrance.   
In any case I would never go there (well, maybe
If you invited me, for a drink and some
 intimate conversation)

Because—at this writing—
I know I have more in common with artists 
Than I do with the saints.