Winter's Smile

Nina Simone

and static rain crackles

from the phonograph speakers.

Between the windows

we float

with the smoke,

licking lips,

the shaking fits of

harmonizing bodies,

giving sex tips to strangers

in the parking lots of liquor stores

while I watch

the future and past

intersect,

skull and crossbones,

lists of predictable chores not done,

lusts for raunchy rhymes unsung,

as of yet,

due to televised hypnosis,

the pyramids in Memphis,

wailing ghosts

on the sidewalk

that you so carelessly pass between,

nods of recognition

between old lovers,

spitting swear words that delved deep inside

the bruised breaks in the pavement.

I washed you down,

lime and tequila,

embracing the luscious night

instead of your warm skin

on my cold veins.

People leaving my life

through thick doorframes,

forgetting their keys

next to coffeepots gurgling and hissing,

humming to themselves in lonely long grocery lines,

opening mouths to speak turbulent truths,

deciding against it,

crunching tight,

teeth to teeth,

crooked jawlines ache

with heartbreak pulsations,

canceling dinner plans

at the last possible second,

flipping through

worn out pictures instead,

just for a chance to recall

my dad’s knowing smile in the winter.