The
Poetry Of Alan King
Remember
darting through traffic, racing
through northwest, the buses'
fluorescent blur,
orange-mango and banana
smoothies cooling our tongues,
fog forming between
our mouths as we spoke
girl, remember me pulling you
closer, nibbling your bottom lip
like a tangerine wedge
cradling your fleshy hip-
bone under the glow of
a switchboard city
ignoring passersby, gawking
at limbs locking, torsos kinking
like tumbleweed, my fingers
squeezing dimples in your jeans
top
The
Seekers
I ring up chili fries and iced teas
for a guy grinning and wincing
as his woman whispers in his ear
I slide the receipt across
the counter, he fingers ones and
fives: keep the change before
leaving the Chili Bowl
the year before is a slide show:
a big argument, her apartment door
slamming behind me, and the long
months of silent protest
I sigh after Bill Wither's ain't no sunshine
when she's gone, only darkness everyday
street lamps brighten, quarter
shuttles pass the college crowd
at Starbucks across the street,
fellas stare at thighs in tug-o-war
and busty outlines bouncing
under body tees
a bell chimes over the door -
breaks the spell - and houselights
splash over balmy pecan skin
thick raspberry lips ask for
vegetarian chili on fries and
small fruit punch before
waiting at a table
a guy at the counter, clueless
she's checking him, slices
his chocolate wedge, suck icing
off his fork, while he thumbs
through the singles' ads
top
At
Cici's
on my third slice of pepperoni
pizza, Al Green wants a woman
to remember the time they had
and how right he tried to be
as a little girl, Rev. Green was all
your grandma played, you learned
his lyrics in time-out when
you wouldn't finish your food
now, it's been years since our break-up,
a camera is still reeling moments on
the projection screen in my skull:
there we are at the U street market
on Saturday; here I am surprised
at a party you threw me; look!
that's the day we played hooky
from work and raided the bookstores
I pass our old hang-outs you come
alive again another reel shows us
laughing at El Tamarindo or at
happy hour with your co-workers
it's then I realize most relationships
are thresholds - people pulling
each other into their lives
then bailing when it gets tough
in the pizza shop, the older couples
smile at a boy sharing skittles with
a girl at the candy machine
top
Alan King is a writer living
in the D.C. metropolitan area. His fiction and poems have appeared
in The Arabesques Review, Warpland, Foliate Oak, Nimble, The
Scruffy Dog Review, and Fingernails Across the Chalkboard: Poetry
and Prose onHIV/AIDS. Alan's other publications include Adagio
Verse Quarterly, Ink Stains,Taboo Haiku, and Whimperbang.
A recipient of artist fellowships
from Cave Canem and Vona (Voices of Our Nation), his work was
also part of the Anacostia Exposed, a collaborative exhibit --
showcasing the life and energy of Anacostia -- with Irish photographer
Mervyn Smyth that opened at the Honfleur Gallery in southeast
Washington, D.C. and is currently on display in Northern Ireland.
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