SLIDE GUITAR

Posted by | June 15, 2011 | Poetry, The road | 5 Comments
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She asks
Tell me, sad eyes
What would it take to get a dance?

I don’t answer
My silence doesn’t register as an answer
She asks again

I stand, all jeans, boots & empty
Take her hand for a couple trips around the floor
Under neon I barely recognize my reflection in the glass

I’d rather be taking up space at the bar
Listening to that mournful wail
Letting my mind head off on its dark walk

You’re a hell of a dancer
Buy me a beer?
she asks

There’s no calling my mind back
I leave her with a sweating beer & a tip for the bar
Her frown says she gets it

 

**I was a featured poet at an alumni poetry reading recently. This is one of the handful I read. I’ll post more sometime in the not-so-distant future.


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