City Vignette Poem by Sonny Rainshine

City Vignette



She moans when
he tells her
the ice cubes have
bruised the liquor:
She feels cold
and battered.

Her tears turn the
concoction saline,
and a Stan Getz
bossa nova
pours passion
and jazz
into the glasses
and mingles with
the Mediterranean
taste of green olives.

The gauzy curtains at the open window
filter the murmur
of the nocturnal street sounds
of the city—
laughter, footsteps
the howl of a madman.

All the night,
and all its sounds,
are funneled into
two glasses,
half-empty
on a kitchen table
in a walk-up apartment
in America.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Sandra Erickson 17 June 2006

I love this...yes, the perfect vignette, leaves me wondering what happens next... Sandra

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