Impulse Control
We met under a neon sign
at the Coyote Moon;
a rundown bar across
the street from the Ramada.
She asked me for a cigarette
and smiled as I fumbled to light it.
She carried her years well
but her eyes looked a little sad
behind the smokey blue glow.
“Are you married” she asked
and I had to think hard about
if it even mattered anymore.
“Some days more than others”
I replied. She nodded and looked away.
Our Camels burned down
and the conversation stalled,
so we moved back inside for a drink.
She drank Smirnoff straight,
and swallowed like it was pride.
I noticed the wetness on her lips
and wondered how it would mix
with my scotch as we walked out
to share my last cigarette.
to share my last cigarette.
“I don’t like to sleep alone”
was followed by a well-dressed
exhale of smoke. “Who does?”
I shrugged, then I kissed her
I shrugged, then I kissed her
on the cheek before going back
inside to close out my tab.
SMG
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20 comments:
..I noticed the wetness on her lips
and wondered how it would mix
with my scotch... this is the most erotic line i've read in a while.
really like this poem - the only thing that confuses me a bit - they moved back inside for a drink and then he moves back inside to close out the tab..maybe you used the "back inside" on purpose twice?
also like the swallowed like regret and the well-dressed exhale of smoke
I think "luminous" and "glow" are a bit redundant. Some good images but this could probably be tightened. Make it a movie and let the pictures do the talking, you know?
I re-read this today, and I really feel it this time. Especially "swallowed like it was pride" I dug.
This is a great poem. Love the word choice and imagery throughout.
You set the scene perfectly, and then keep the story moving straight to that end point. Lost souls, holding on to human touch and contact. Great poem.
nice capture of a rather sensual moment...i dont know if i would have remembered the tab...
this is an excellent one-shot. I absolutely loved the grungy, realistic feel of it, the truth in it--raw and realistic. Do you write stories as well? You're voice is impeccable.
back again. I had to read it a third time, I like it that much
Amy Sprague's got it right: this is grungy. It leaves you with that feel. It's morning here, a Wednesday morning, I'm sitting in my robe with coffee but your poem makes me think I can smell stale cigarettes, and hangover breath, my head hurts a bit, and there's a weight on my chest.
The image is from Barfly, right? I like the Bukowski-ness of this one!
yes I agree with the other comments I too loved the line the wetness of her lips mix with scotch. Love this very sexy.
brilliant....
o i wonder who among us hasn't been there, old bar fly here. love the photo. xj
The image certainly is pertinent, as the Barflies vibe in this piece has already been commented upon several times. The matter-of-fact (if not outright weary) tone works well here: no happy endings, no uplifting messages, just another damn drink.
You certainly got the Bukowski thing going on here. Very urban, hard, and weary as was said before. Burn out takes many forms, for sure.
Wow, I agree with Claudia, very exquisitely painted... Wet scotch...
lovely post...
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/03/whispers-winter-dew.html
Twitter @VerseEveryDay
Love Bukowski/"Barfly" - the work suits the picture/author, in intent, execution, excellence.
Your are the master of poetic narrative. This is just another proof of that assertion. I thorougly enjoy reading your poetic narratives. If you are not a novelist, what are you waiting for my friend.
Damn I love your poetry its weird I feel like your narrating my own life
Intense and erotic poem.
A perfect piece of inspiration for a story.
eden
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