Those Cracks In Sidewalks Never Leave

A Shadow Lost on Friday

bored with him, his
bearded face - curious
curling of smoke
twisting to meet her eyes,

her shoulders droop
still -
a drink warms
ice melts,

as wrists curl -
two shadows on a wall
as he puffs a
pipe, a ring of smoke

near gentle features,
seeps into pores -
he doesn’t talk
a shadow - still

he knows she detests
him, his grubby looks,
fruitless charm –
a shadow lost

she thought,
perhaps? Pouts -
crosses her legs - her feet
beneath a marble table,

dreaming of next
Friday -
shadows on a wall,
wrists bent to hold her

head - sips beer
from a crystal glass -
lights her only cigarette,
men stare at her, a flickering

of golden light – still
a shadow cold – a marble top,
smell the aroma
from a bean of vanilla,

a bearded mans pipe -
until Saturday.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved