By David Plumb
Your mind drifts to her breathing
that feels much like yours.
Something caught right off.
Not a soiree, a fantasy, a blank wish.
Silence and you remember
the first dance at the Pink Hotel.
What light in each step and swirl.
Now beyond the mystery of folly, messes
good and bad memories fade at 3:07 A.M.
A tiny light no one but you can see appears
and someone says this is it
and for a second you don’t know
it’s you talking to yourself.
It says she is the prize, the whole damn thing
beyond wars, endless slaughters, souls gone awry
crooked politicians, dropping APRs, failed dreams
impossible circumstances and just plain wisdom
and you lie there, hand on her shoulder
listening to the awe holding
the two of you so still.
David Plumb’s writing has appeared in the Healing Muse, The Washington Post, the Miami Herald, Gargoyle, and Outlaw Poetry Network,. The author of ten books, Will Rogers said, “Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip. David Plumb says, “It depends upon the parrot.”