An Exchange

He gestures ostentatiously.  “Come sit.”
He doesn't have a title, but he's learned
That class's ticks:  a fine, straw hat,
Seersucker suit, a box of Turkish
Cigarettes, one lit, half finished, in
An ashtray, and a glass of limoncello,
Iced and sweating, by his hand.  “What
Can I have the waiter bring you, cara mia?”
You just shrug.  “I'll have a limoncello, too.”
You've been in this play almost daily since
You were about thirteen.  Its title could be
“An Exchange.”  A plump old guy will
Offer something, food or liquor, opera
Tickets, hoping that he'll be paid back,
With interest, in bed.





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 29 times
Written on 2022-06-15 at 19:52

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