22.30 (maybe an almanac pt. 3 piece?)

little girl in pink pajamas with purple hearts
bathrobe, spins outside the venue
it's 10.30pm on a wednesday night
a cigarette sticks to the bottom of her slipper
as she spins, spins, spins, unaware
an axis on ashes

the glowing neon light of the coffeeshop sign
blesses her face
she likes being the center of attention
already poses

one day, she will be a seeker
always falling for the ones with habits
loose hair
pipe dreams, smoldering.

~

it's parents and kids tonight
young bodies everywhere
some of them with flashcards
equations, notebooks, papers to write.

the warm weather
lured them
with their kisses of fresh leaves
tongues of petal blossoms
the sweetness of flower
the unwined grape scent of wysteria

so many girls in here
it's hard to breathe

so many older men with braided grey hairs
a cultivated earthy

so many wives in hippie pattern shirts
clothes that swoop and bags in lime

so much suburbia crammed into
one side brick, one side bar, two sides window

so many glasses hitting each other
an electric violin
a tuba
you would think it perfect

never mind the scar over one man's eye
the too loud voices
the grating paws of certain mothers
the out of place
crooked planter
the art installation that gets knocked over
the girls clutching each other
escaping to split a brownie five ways

this is the same town
where a nine year old found
solace in electrical chord
and the memory of him
floats outside
tucked in a shadow
or the lingering smoke
of a teenager's suriptituos lift of a wine bottle
the bar too frazzled to notice

everyone's looking the other way
which is just how sinister
prefers