Number Nine Special

It’s just another 
winter’s day
as you wind your way
through people traffic,
everyone going in the opposite direction,
walking against you
 
you’ll pull the collar
of self-pity
high around your neck
bend your defeated face in its folds
 
downcast eyes
frozen with unshed tears
will remain fixed
as you woodenly order 
the number nine special
 
streetlights will turn on
one by one
with a sudden flicker
and you’re home now
but it’s not really safe
as you eat the tasteless dinner
 
not really watching
what comes on TV
you will reach for the phone
to call me up and tell me all about it
while I will soothingly croon
the platitudes of "I know, I understand"
 
but not before
you pause to notice
that the snow that never 
seems to stay
long enough to enjoy
has only now 
started to come down
and it’s caught your eye
and, for one moment,
but just one
it dazzles underneath
the city lights

La Fée Verte

 
He looks at the mesmerizing pool of 
circling green liquid
squinting for traces of fairy dust
 
the sugar cube long ago dissolved
he takes an eager sip:
 
no sweetness remains
mildly ponderous,
reflective,
awaiting deep thoughts
 
what did he expect?
what did he know?
 
no promised Cure
nor pensive meditations
in this cup of pungency
only a taste of acrimony
bitterness
and a good dose of pretension
hang in the milky louche
thrown in 
for good measure