Monday, March 3, 2014



Jazz plays, and my wineglass sweats
cold drops next to my steak.
One perfect day after another.

A woman in her early sixties to my right,
orders a bottle of chilled wine;
her face … a pair of absurd,
black-rimmed glasses and
bright red lipstick.

I pray to my Kir to be in the 
right place, no matter how it is
a table for one.


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