Frog and I travelled together
often
and when ethan suggested we go in
I said "okay," assuming that it was.
Frog sat on the table, I sat at it,
ethan
ate his perfunctory dinner and left, quickly.
Neon and the mirrors to multiply it into
impossible geometries
made our waitress a will-o-the-wisp in an electric forest
populated, increasingly, by
vultures, flapping from perch to floor to perch, and
knights, their joints going with
the rusty blood that pooled in them
as the night went on.
"flies," said Frog, and
"absolut," I said, and watched a bit
of the voluntary carnage, the gutters,
the line of eager knights at the door.
Not that these gentlemen were gleaming --
rapists, some of them, eager axers and grizzled veterans
and the vultures heroes to some, leading
toddling babes away from wolves, filling aesop's bottle with stones
A vulture flutters to Frog, asks him if he wants to dance
his eyes narrow but I answer first yespleasemefirst
and I almost miss his turning away in the flurry of wings
and pecking that embraces me, stings and slaps and the
red thumping of
passion, perhaps, or fury, or impotent, toe-stubbing rage
which buoys me until
it's over
and she jump/flies across the room, leaving me quivering
Frog had left a five on the table.
I stood on the still-unsteady street wondering
where next to look
my chest aching and missing a perfect
beak-shaped smile, the edges bleeding, but only softly now,
and even as I watch, it fills with the concrete I'm on
closed, but I'm already missing the smile
and I haven't seen Frog since.