ROBERT JOE STOUT
Elaine
Beige curtains twisted into dancing shapes
as real as dreams. I rose, watching as they
seemed to touch, then part, then spin slowly
back to touch, fingertip to fingertip, again.
Rhythms floated in and faded as I crossed
the room to gaze towards sailboats anchored
in the bay. Come with me! Elaine once whispered
as we’d danced across a jetty. Pulled off our clothes.
Plunged into currents swirling alongshore.
Clasped each other’s bodies quivering from cold.
A truck edged past, its headlights flickering
across the fronts of dormant stores. Now get me warm!
she’d laughed and run and tripped. Rolled over.
Held me, shivering, as we’d surged past instant wanting
into places where the sea and sky were one.
Then rose, exhausted, strangers brushing sand
from heated bodies, trying to laugh
and walk back to the jetty, talk: My God!
We’re silly! I still feel like you’re inside me!
No thoughts then of schedules, children,
just the beach and palms and jetty.
Again I felt the wind assault our wetness.
Felt her fingers touch, then separate from mine.
poetryrepairs #242 17,11 126:
ROBERT JOE STOUT
Stranger in the Coffee Shop
Faces move
to greet me
shyly, shove
aside the danger
of too quick
a smile. The
waitress licks
her lips. "Odd
weather," someone
whispers. "Coffee?
Sure." She runs
to get a cup.
The cook peers
through a crack
above the grill,
a stack of pancakes
in his hand. An old
man coughs. "More
butter please." I sip
my coffee, read
the paper as they nod
themselves back
into safety, all being right
in their small world.
poetryrepairs #242 17,11:126
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Elaine
Stranger in the Coffee Shop
126poem3
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