Afterglow

August 5, 2012

#13 Afterglow

When they
leave behind,
their glasses empty
on soiled cotton,
tables glad that
they have left.
Only the quintet
stares,
at the cables,
lingering the melody
of a melancholy
verse. It’s beyond time
to hit the city roads,
smell the cheap nicotine
and crack jokes
primarily
to be forgotten
and repeated every day.
Beyond time
to look at each other,
in tenors and
sometimes even lower.