Passing by the Spanish Restaurant

September 26, 2015 at 9:23 am (Dani Clark, Poetry)

Each eve from office to bus stop
I walk by a Spanish restaurant
all blood red and velvet inside
where I can see
rows of bottles making pretty
over a brass bar.
It can be summer
people eat outside on
sidewalk tables
the fragrance of fried fish curls
like a woman’s finger
looping and looping in the air
and making me want
I’m not sure what.
Or, it can be cold out
a couple is ensconced
at a small table inside
she looks down traces a finger
on the bleach-white cloth
something illicit and warm
is happening
is made fuller
by the breaking of bread
and the garnet liquid.
We are always
and everywhere
passing each other by.
A suited man will look
beyond the glass one day
to a woman with brown hair
walking slowly on the sidewalk
now is the time he thinks.

But how in a million years
could I ever open the door
put my palms on her face
siphon her aliveness
have her walk away with me
into the night.

-Dani Clark


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