In the Automat, by S. P. Kerce

Automat, by Edward Hopper (USA) 1927

In the Automat 

Edward, paint another figure in
the Automat, paint me. It would
be simple, if you could, to paint
me sitting on the chair that's
vacant in the foreground. I'd be
a vaguely modeled patch of blue
just coming from the office late
at night still in my business suit
and tie. I'd turn my back to you
and be anonymous, no face,
no hands to draw. You wouldn't have
to change a thing. Of course, the table
must be shared, there's only one.

Perhaps the lady wouldn't mind,
since even when we're all alone,
hope has room for two. You'd leave her
with her hat on, and I'd keep mine
on, too. I'd not attempt to catch
her eye beneath the down-turned brim,
nor help her to remove her coat,
and certainly the glove could stay,
just for coffee and a stranger.

I'd sit as still and silent as
the bowl of fruit in shadowless
autonomy of cross-beams cast
from unseen ceiling lights. I'd gaze
into the background and I'd see
reflected lamps articulate
the outer darkness through the glass
of the window's unsilvered mirror.

S. P. Kerce

Mr. Kerce is a peripatetic American now retired and living in Berlin, having arrived by way of Los Angeles, Chicago, Munich, Athens, and Lynchburg, Tennessee. Along the way he has been writing poetry.