Scent
The car was a Volkswagen bug
painted almost joyfully florescent.
Yellows and greens,
peace moniker still in tact.
Understated we watched
as it weaved in and out
of the competitive traffic.
The driver was a youngish lady
in straw bonnet or ironblonde hair
smoking her Acapulco Gold.
It wafted through an open window.
As soon as the phony iconic columns
of the progressive Greek restaurant
appeared like a timely mirage,
she exited darting up the small hill.
Like Irish mirrors, like an aggrandizement.
Torpor Is A Condition I Especially Dislike
We left the penthouse
by the rear entrance
because the usual crowd
had gathered in the foyer.
An alley beckoned so
we took that short cut,
reappearing on the Avenue Montaigne.
There you spent too much money
on a white leather handbag
that alluded to your sensibilities.
Walk suddenly swaying,
eyes in worldly syntax.
Getting out like this
was the right thing to do.
Curriculum Of The Discontinued
I sweep the sand up
but there it is again.
I guess I didn't take
the wind into account
or even conjectured,
just focused on
those little specks.
I remember you
were wearing
too much jewelry.
Garish gold earrings
still elegant somehow
and less than expected.
Chose the straightest
path leading away.
________
Colin James has a couple of chapbooks of poetry published. Dreams Of The Really Annoying from Writing Knights Press and A Thoroughness Not Deprived of Absurdity from Piski's Porch Press and a book of poems, Resisting Probability, from Sagging Meniscus Press.
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