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A Date At Chelsea's With Marci

Mid-April evening, overlooking Clear Lake
at Chelsea’s Wine Bar, a party of one:

Sipping white zinfandel, I feel the chill
of my half-empty glass while fancy-free

flatware clatters impassive pageantry.
A moment.  An hour.  Another, until,

on the wooden veranda, I see you take
a familiar draw from your lipstick stained

cigarette.  I thought you had quit awhile back.
I couldn’t - and step outside where the 

unchanged breeze holds a subtle hint
of perfume.  That hasn’t changed.  I hesitate,

but then say “hello”.  Turning away, you say 
“it’s late”.  I nod.  Unnoticed by agreement.

5/1/2017
For Fancy Free Poetry Contest

divorcelost lovesonnet

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