Friday, July 17, 2009

Verse: Waves

She wades
through the
roiling crowd
to a table
in the back
past the one-armed
bandits and
their obscene gestures
and the boys
all talking smack

Another subterranean
evening and the Seahorse
is as cramped
as a sardine tin
even Jesus with
all his apostles
to vouch for him
could not hope
to talk his way in

The strobes are in
the grip of
a paralyzing
heart attack
the room is
bathed in sweat
cappuccino girls
like seiners
catch furtive glances
with their fishnets

they start to
shake and shimmy
as soon as the band
begins to play
she waits for no one
in particular
to emerge from
the frolic and
the fray

rye and ginger
she draws the straw
eagerly to her
parted lips
as waitresses
fan out through
the crowd to
receive their orders
and their tips

salt upon the table
glimmering like
bleached grains
of sand
she draws a heart
pierces it
and casually erases it
with one sweep
of her hand

too self conscious
to initiate and yet
no one approaches her
in the pulsing light
she write an SOS
a ransom note
on a napkin
slips it in a bottle
and steps out
into the night

the narrow streets
are snarled and coiled
like twisted vines
she falls under
the sway of
the steady flow
of traffic
bumptious as
a conga line

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