Heavy seat

They say

don’t sit at the bar too long

alone

people will get funny ideas

they’ll think you’re a drunk

they’ll think you’re a lush

they’ll think you wanted it

when you wanted

nothing

but to stare into the glass

watching amber liquid come and go

drinking until the edges blur

and the day is no longer painful

until you begin to forget

you are unhappy

and you watch lovers

dance slow on wet pavement outside

watching how graceful her wrists rise above her head

and his eyes follow the shape of her gleaning neck

understanding time differently

you were once, that moment

you stood in the very same pealing door way

you removed your long coat, your breasts blooming like night jasmine

they watched you with intention

not that curled side-ways glance

of lazy people who no longer see

for now, years flung ahead in time

you are just a piece of splayed furniture, unused

watching through hooded eyes

the slow unfurling of radiating youth

a delight spilt out into cawing streets

abundant with summer dew

and your memory, her cheeks are round like fruit

when she smiles and pulls on her dark cigarette

you want to capture all of it

deep in the bottom of your 6th empty glass

where a favorite song once played

causing you to rise

from your heavy seat.

15 thoughts on “Heavy seat

  1. Amazing and yet so approachable that I feel I have a good inkling of your narrative here. Your words play out like a silent dance, touching on youth and non-youth, so on changing, on loss, at how things may seem impossible now. Know that to the people who matter, who know you, you will never be dismal splayed furniture, rather, you will always be a cherished antique, and heirloom, something of beauty which even Time cannot erode or lessen. Where do you think the young lady learned to dance, by the way? She may have seen you dancing, back when she was a child.

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