Sunday, November 8, 2015

That Was Good Salsa

In a sad tobacco voice
I stepped into class
A trumpet was scrambling
back to its seat.
More importantly
my wrist, laid open
by a butterfly wing
caught it.
I have seen this before
but never
with the eggy film
that covers the whole
celluloid.
The whole story
like the last line of a classic.
I will never return to you
though you did taste good.

at

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I don't care what this poem is about. Who doesn't want to talk about good salsa?

November 12, 2015 at 6:33 PM

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