Border Café

The road pauses here, a breath held too long,
where the past drifts in like the smell of grease,
clings to the walls, the cracked vinyl seats,
ice melting in cheap whiskey, untouched.

The door wails like a lost chord in the night,
a bluesman’s lament bending in the wind.
Men with faraway eyes sit without speaking,
watching the clock melt minute by minute.

Memory flickers in the fluorescent hum,
faces blurred, half-formed, unfinished dreams.
A hand idly traces the bar’s old scars,
as if feeling for the line between what was and what could have been.

Outside, the wind rises, turns in on itself,
a thought abandoned before it was spoken,
a traveler passing through the dark,
caught between staying and vanishing.

Jackman, Maine

6 thoughts on “Border Café

      1. Perfect. Do you know the Cafe Review? I subscribe. The poetry is not nearly up to yours, and I’ve never seen images and poetry that go together as yours do. But it’s locally published, artists are international.

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      2. Thanks for the recommendation.If my submissions don’t pan out I’ll give Cafe Review a shot!

        I hope that you and Randy are healthy again. Sorry you missed theconcert.

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