Speed Dating At The Poetry Cafe
by Loretta Diane Walker

Pens poised, room murmuring
with dusky lights,
we sit in the poetry café
clustered at round tables.
Velvety tongues of fire flap
from violet votive candles.
The almond-eyed, curly-haired,
bearded matchmaker balloons his arms,
parts them; many hands reach
for pages of verse raining like confetti.
Apprehension travels my life-line.
Maybe I fear the residue
of someone else’s vision
falling into my eyes.

Holding my breath,
I watch her press against the page
when a burly-chested sentence
from another poem leans too close.
She glimpses a G-string
limping up the small of his back—
glint, glimmer, glisten, gleam
on the band like four worn horseshoes.

Calm drifts over me when I see her
in the crib of soft fingers.
She smiles at a cowboy poet
with pale eyes and skin.
A big ADVERB medallion hangs
from his long neck; he playfully chants
every tomorrow, seldom soon,
finally, my darling girl.

The night stretches like a long highway
before she returns to me, lumbering rhythms
balanced, awkward sentences fluid,
letters properly ordered in each word.
With the soft blade of my pen,
I delicately slice away the last bit of noise
so I can hear my poem singing.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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