Cafe.(Poem)

 
CAFE 
for Robert Gray 
 
   A Clarence mist on lower reaches 
   and Jerseys after milking; 
   morning shadows easing back 
   beneath the jacarandas; 
 
   the dew as fresh as sugar sap 
   along a sharp machete; 
   the dented shine of milk cans, too, 
   waiting for the lorry; 
 
   and butter factories with their names 
   already lost to rain. 
   Seeing this a lifetime later 
   (or was it just the weather?) 
 
   I find my mind has slipped inside 
   a booth in Langley's ...