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Jim C. Wilson  Poet
‘A true poet —

                   An Evening In

 

‘Put on some Johnnie Ray,’ she said, and ran

her tongue along her lipstick. Ten past ten:

she felt like fun. The sparkling white wine grew

warm in her glass; and there, her fingerprints.

Just Walking in the Rain,’ she said, and lit

one more last cigarette. Candles can make

things romantic, can’t they? The shadows move.

Maybe she should close the curtains, stop folk

staring in. And why do those streetlamps have

haloes? Oh, God, she’s in love, and has been

for years — the endless romance of it all!

She drinks more wine; surveys the room’s expanse.

The teddy bears get ready for the dance.