The Watch Shop Poem by Bernard Henrie

Small mirrors like pendants,
heavy curtains of the Bolshoi.

She strapped a Louis Vuitton
to his wrist, changing watches
as you change hall paintings.

He rowed on the Charles River,
an oiled wrestler, a delicate
antiquity in a museum.

When she was shameless
and no longer wearing a summer
dress he loved…

she asked if he could taste
her lipstick, his head thrown back
like an opium eater; the second
day of their weekend but it felt
like only a quarter hour.