She will donn the black,
bending at the narrow breach of
froth, trying to make peace with
all the night and into more of
the moon, shaded by drenching
streetlights, beyond the grasp of
the level, full of beer for all,
for just the one, staring at chalk,
percentage of the many looking
back at Sonia.
Next down the block, the wooden
bar talks to her, shoulders a smile
drawn before the stillness of a simple
shirt, worn for a customary look
into the embrace of dreams,
of fog blending into this one chance
to remember -
weird how it dances before her breath -
all together Sonia knows, remembers
the story, resting with her in a shadow.
What she knows, menus and flavors
of the dance floor, Bohemia, Backstreet,
boys she knew, boys she knows,
in synch with German descent,
far from the bar on the corner,
street lights shine as the curb appeal
knows no bounds, but nicely stays
wet for gardens, brews finished for
a full moon, unguarded, undressed,
she follows as night covers her,
dreams until dawn.
© 2016 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.