Saturday, September 02, 2006

good night

It had stopped raining but the mist still clung to everything and the pavers and footwalks were wet and polished under the streetlamps and I said, "hey, this was fun," as her bus arrived and she leaned forward and kissed me, the fingers of her left hand just touching the back of my neck below the hairline, igniting me. "Ring me tomorrow," she said, then spun in an elegant twirl and climbed aboard.

The bus pushed through the fog and disappeared. I stood there on the silent, empty street thinking about the moonlight shining down on the tops of this enormous bank of clouds. And then I walked all the way home.

copyright 2006 by Ira Socol
Photograph adapted from Gallery

1 comment:

Brenda said...

This is a poem, entirely. The writing, itself, "spun in an elegant twirl." Very beautiful, though there is a rhythm of lament under it that I can't quite put my finger on. That's why I know this is poetry.