The cashier calls me Sweetie Shall I call him Hon? Sweetie does not roll off The tip of his tongue He needs more time at the mirror Rehearsing his words and Synchronizing the turn of The iPad in our direction
Sure, he works in a bakery café And maybe I should be glad He doesn’t address me as Muffin But I know that Grandpa over there Is going to get a Sir with his Danish Though I want the cashier to say Sweetie to him, too, because I like a little chaos with my coffee
Draft, Susan Thomsen, June 2026
Another coffee poem... and this one with a bakery. Maybe I'm on a roll. (Hahaha.)
On Friday, June 26, the Poetry Friday roundup is at The Miss Rumphius Effect, and the host is Tricia Stohr-Hunt.
Thanks so much to the Academy of American Poets for sharing this beautiful summer poem by Nikki Giovanni. I came across it on Instagram just after attending the Mississippi Picnic in New York, and it so resonated with me.
The Poetry Friday roundup for June 12th is at Linda Mitchell’s Substack, Another Word Edgewise.
I’ve loved the poem “I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store,” by Eve L. Ewing, ever since I first read it. My first reaction was that of course Emmett Till should be still alive, of course he should be. “It is possible to write a joyful Emmett Till poem,” says Terrance Hays in a note. Hayes curated a series of poems about Till for the Poetry Society of America, where this poem is posted, and I look forward to reading the rest.
Emmett Till would have turned 85 this summer, on July 25th.
Since it’s Memorial Day weekend, my thoughts turn to beaches, pools, and swimming. Our little great-niece loves the water, and we eagerly await her and her brother’s visit in a month or two. Bring on the snacks, flip flops, towels, sunscreen, and bathing suits—and sand tracked everywhere, of course. I chose Michael Simms’ poem “The Summer You Learned to Swim” for Poetry Friday. It begins,
The summer you learned to swim was the summer I learned to be at peace with myself.
A new term, The paths glow— the breeze is a rush of exhilaration.
Leafy, muddy Cambridge is still quiet, but their words veer off the path.
I just started the novel Tiepolo Blue, by James Cahill, which I bought because of the title and the swimming pool on the cover. The writing on the first page was so lovely, its phrases so descriptive that it was almost poetry anyway. Is it cheating to use such a source for an erasure poem? A bigger challenge would be to employ, say, the business section of a newspaper, but I took the plunge into the Tiepolo pool anyway. I’m keeping "I" for the poem's title, which is the Roman number I, but you could also read it as the personal pronoun “I” and entertain a little mystery.
More poems and poetry talk from others at the Poetry Friday roundup for May 15th; it’s at Patricia J. Franz’s place.
Poem source: Tiepolo Blue, by James Cahill. Sceptre/Hodder & Stoughton/Hachette UK, 2022.
You know what? I’m going to make the decision myself, I’m very inspired by “Twilight,” I don’t want a summer wedding, I don’t want to be sweaty, You’re right, it can’t last forever, It’s way beyond pretend, I have mad options, and There’s only one Mary O’Shea.
Susan Thomsen, draft April 2026. This poem and its title consist of lines from various overheard conversations in New York, with just a couple of tweaks for sense.I call these works "street poems."
Later I remembered the "Twilight" girl on the train. She (unknowingly) supplied several lines of what ultimately became the poem above. So, twilight poem #2! Fittingly, I composed the first draft on MetroNorth, which connects New York and some of the suburbs.
Heidi Mordhorst will host the round up of Poetry Friday posts for April 17th. Go, read!
Poetry Friday has come around again, and this week I chose Muriel Rukeyser’s “Poem (I lived in the first century of world wars),” which begins:
"I lived in the first century of world wars. Most mornings I would be more or less insane"
You can read the rest of the poem at the Poetry Foundation. Thanks to some Bluesky users for mentioning this one the other day. Its initial publication date is 1968! The despair, as well as the desire for peace and reconciliation, make sense for that awful year, and I'm amazed at how well it works for our era, not to mention just this past week, with its "various devices," the continual selling, and "careless stories."
Longtime Poetry Friday contributor Marcie Flinchum Atkins is celebrating the release of her new picture book, When Twilight Comes: The Animals and Plants That Bring Dusk and Dawn to Life. Congratulations to Marcie! She invited us to share a twilight poem or image, and I chose “Darklight,” by Rosanna Warren, from the Yale Review. It is so atmospheric. The poem begins,
“The moon dragged her string-net bag of shadows through the boughs as we felt our way along the night road, gravel crackling under our feet”
For today’s Poetry Friday selection I chose Tiana Clark’s “My Therapist Wants to Know about My Relationship to Work,” which you can read over at the Poetry Foundation. Plus also, you can listen to the poet herself reading it, which I recommend. This post’s title is from one of its verses. I love how Clark uses language in unexpected ways, as in “I stutter the page” and “I short/my breath.”
“My Therapist Wants to Know About My Relationship to Work” appears in Clark’s most recent collection, Scorched Earth, a finalist for the 2025 National Book Award for Poetry.
Chicken Spaghetti 