at Beatnik on the River,
frustrated with life,
but not the food,
wondering if she
is dancing and if
minor mercies still exist.
corner booth in the back,
avoiding comedians,
wondering why
37-years-old feels
like a milestone,
personally with premonition,
dry and uninspired.
by the time the cheese arrives,
I am near tears
from the cold coming in
and the everything else
holding fast
to my heart.
pay the tab
with a bowtie tip,
finish the Fernet Branca,
and smile in mind,
but not in real life,
as exits are the only thing
that save something good.
salsa the street avenues
like her healing
under the same sky,
the smaller the surprise
of life leads to be,
reimagined each day
as adverb adventure
hidden behind temperature.