Swiss Chocolate

i like chocolate
and have a bit now and then
say, evenings, say often.
in my Christmas stocking Santa put me some.

now, i’d heard the Swiss
made chocolate well;
let me tell to you this,
better than swell, Swiss chocolate is.

it was worth the trip.
how can i say it? well . . .
between you and me,
it is the best you think chocolate can be.

i’m sorry it ends so soon, this poem;
it’s like looking down when you're taking out the trash
and seeing the candy wrapper there and remembering
how wonderful tasty chocolate is.

My Conception of Immaculate Zurich

cross the street where you should
new stylish shiny cars must stop for you.
all is fresh like new, exactly neat.
no bird makes a mess, or too loud tweet.

air there is clean without question
through the day, through the night.
lake fishes swimming
keep to the right.

sidewalks pristine, in good repair.
there is no graffiti - anywhere.
quiet trams, smooth buses run on time.
poems of course are going to rhyme.

midnight train to zurich

the conductor waved the lantern one time long and slow
looking back the engineer nodded and we pulled out of the station
exactly seven a.m. by the black metal ornate clock we passed.
although, and i shivered, it was half past midnight in my heart.

it was evident the guy had stolen the porters jacket
as witnessed by what he had,
a giant bloodstain bullet hole leaking out
where his brains out'a be.

so i sipped my coffee quietly
and noticed it tasted like an amateur made it.
looking into the face of the cat woman,
a conspiratorial smile wet her lips.

remembered my chic long black wool frock
left at home hanging alone in the dark closet;
instead wore my nylon Cleveland Indians jacket
with Chief Wahoo on it.

he ripped a hole in the knee of his pants
escaping the clutches of his ticket-checking girlfriend,
i saw his eyes steel-over as he punched my ticket,
Robert Ludlum would have left this character bound in baggage.

a clang i felt more than heard when the porter dropped his revolver,
then went to pick it up and seven passports
slipped like snowflakes from his pocket and fell to the floor.
he looked up, i saw written in his expression the words
forget it ever happened.