Poetry

Reflected in glass with golden bubbles
distorted faces
stare at him, some looking quite grim and some old;
different places
they call home while to this place they do come,
girls with their graces
that are totally gone, smile, look, at him
before they do triple on, while his eyes swim.

He sits in a bar in Fourth Avenue
while twilight falls,
a soft hot hand covers his for a moment,
his thoughts do stall;
she is very beautiful, her eyes gleam,
and he feels tall
when they leave chatting and are full of lust
and they do know together sleep they must.

Taxis with sharp headlights pass them roaring
as they walk on,
they are comfortable with each other,
but love is gone
from both their lives and the intimate touch
just like set stone
helps them to fit in the puzzle of life
as they with other people leave and arrive.

In the morning their names are unknown, it’s strange,
the air is stale
with the smell of cigarette buts, sex and wine
and totally male
he smiles at her as they make love again;
the taste of ale
is bitter in his mouth, her kisses sweet;
but they might never again like this meet.

No words hurt as they go their different ways,
past the white beach
he walks where the wind roars, gulls screech, flutter;
now out of reach
like a sweet kind of dream she is now gone
and each to each
they go to home, to work and they do play;
in their lives it’s just another new day.

[Reference: “inema of a Man” by Archibald MacLeish.]