Sunday, April 12, 2009

Cafe

Café


We pick up from the streets, words
and skin stretched
thin over
mother's lips.
Dumpster love along the spillway, free;
sunshine through the way. She
dances to the jukebox, a knife in back of cowboy lust
to celebrate the waitress.

Open sign askew a door
of rust and nails of regret
scratchandspitandspew
coffee dust.

--Michele McDannold has spent most of her life living in rural Illinois surrounded by corn, river rats and rednecks. She likes corn. Café first appeared online at The Indite Circle and then at Calliope Nerve X: Natural Born Poets.

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