CHAT
NOIR
This
chair is a little
soft
in the middle, and musty…
fits
the book of Flannery O’Conner
short
stories I’m trying to get through
here
in the corner of the coffee shop.
There
are, however, distractions,
a
guy in jeans with a guitar
and
quiet
voice,
the bells hanging from the door,
and
the girl in the black dress
ordering
something
at the counter.
From
the Chat Noir tattoo on her arm,
she
must have been troubled by an angst
she
wants everyone to know about.
How
did I know?
She
eyed the empty table to my left
with
its tall stools and I could feel
her
gaze when she sat down.
It
made
me uncomfortable,
had
to shift my weight
so
I lost my place..
A
cigarette voice asked,
“Where
you from?”
A
hand dragged through the hair
over
her
left eye and dropped to her drink.
A
carmine
fingernail stirred the ice,
rose
to her dark lips
and
stayed there a little
longer
than necessary.
I
closed my book, glanced over,
and
fell into a green eyed well.
“Texas.”