The sheen of check-board linoleum...
I glide to an abandoned barstool,
burgundy vinyl, the seat still warm.
Through a twilight window,
shadows pass anonymous greetings
as if trapped in glass. I reach into
my picked-over pockets for dimes
never fitting that stubborn juke I kick
wanting, waiting to hear
any love song,
dead people singing oldies.
A woman in a red dress looks ready
to deliver unwanted children
to wanted men, their pictures
on post office walls.
Together, we close our
soft shade eyelids, avoid
the rude awakening by sunlight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some very memorable phrases in this fine poem. I like especially, 'Through a twilight window, shadows pass anonymous greetings as if trapped in glass.'Very unique, Marina. Kindest regards, Sandra