she’s ordering one more
our eyes have seen it before
those jobs we don't like
she just moved closer
she's adjusting her hair
hands clenched in a fist
I scribble my poem on a napkin
laughing at something there
the sunset's getting closer
the desperate & divided years
almost the way I see it
I find the words I wanted
she finishes her drink and leaves
Szymborska riff?
ReplyDeletemake mine moonlight
with a dash of rum
crushed ice
Deletea dash of bitters
Rob, this wonderful poem really speaks to me - just love the energy of it - scribbling poems on a napkin, laughing at what's there, hands clenched in a fist, third pint from the sun - why not have a fourth?!
ReplyDeleteThank you, dear Kristen. The fourth was the poem... :)
DeleteAh - I get it! And, hey, I might steal the third pint imagery - I'm sure it could turn up close to Lawless Road one of these days :)
DeleteFourth by napkin - but she should have stayed and unclenched!
ReplyDelete:)
Delete