OLWG #24 – Whiskey in a Glass

 Written for OLWG #24



It had been a good day and I was happy when I walked in and took a seat at the bar. She was washing glasses. We locked eyes and she raised her chin in my direction to let me know that I had been noticed. That she’d be right with me. I spun around on my stool and surveyed the place.

Low lights gleamed off the dark wood bar and walls. The stools were dark wood too, backless, perched atop heavy brass poles. A brass foot rail ran the length of the bar, it seemed like a nice place. High backed booths with brown leatherette upholstery clung to the perimeter of the room and a smattering of low tables occupied no man’s land, between the bar and the booths. There was a girl in a red sequined gown playing a nameless tune softly on a baby grand piano while sparkles from her dress flitted around the room like butterflies. It was crowded but still, hushed.

A voice came from behind me, “What’ll it be, Sweetie?”

I spun around and saw the barkeep leaning there, she was wearing a name tag; Misty, “whiskey would be nice, Misty,” I said, “maybe a single malt; neat.”

“I can do that,” she said and she spun on her heel and went to work.

I turned back and continued to survey the room. In the booth directly across from me sat a well dressed couple, millennials. They were arguing about something, but I couldn’t hear what. A table down by the piano player was crowded by a bunch of middle-aged conventioneers. They were knocking back drinks and shoveling peanuts down their necks as they huddled with their heads close. Maybe they were discussing some business strategies.

A tall thin, long haired, blonde girl, wearing shorts and a tight top moved across the floor working the room. She carried a tray with her and scribbled down orders as she went.

I spun my stool back around when I heard Misty behind me she was smoothing a white lace doily on the bar. She smiled at me and sat my drink on it. Then reaching below the bar she came back with a bowl of peanuts.

“Would you like water back with that?”

“No, no thanks, Misty”

“My name’s not really Misty, you know,” she held out her hand to shake. “I’m Destiny.”

“Destiny?” I queried as we shook hands, “that’s not even close to Misty.”

“Yeah, I know. The boss named me Misty. He says he likes ‘M’ names and that Destiny makes me sound like a stripper. He says, and I quote,” she lowered her voice as she impersonated her boss, “This here is a high class joint, we cain’t have no strippers workin’ here. We cain’t even allow the impression that strippers might work here.”

“Hmm,” I said, “he sounds old and opinionated.”

She nodded her head, “I just need to be careful when my mom finds out. She’s the one who named me.”

“She might be disappointed?”

“Disappointed? No, she’ll be angry though. I have to tell her it was my idea. I have to tell her it’s just like a stage name. She’ll understand that.”

“Is she an actress?” I ask and, pick up my glass.

Misty cocked her head, “Kinda, she was a dancer. When she met my dad; she was working as Chesty LeFemme.”

I raised my glass to her as a grin spread slowly across her face. She turned and moved towards the waitress who was waiting nearby. I looked at the waitress and read her name tag. “Evening, Marcia.” I said.


This week’s prompts are

  1. Whiskey in a glass
  2. The keen edge
  3. Antimacassar

 

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OLWG #23 – Sabayon

I only got two of the prompts in this week, but that’s OK by me. Come on, check it out and play along.

 Written for OLWG #23



There wasn’t one in this cupboard either. There was only one more place to check before I was going to give up. Reaching for the last cabinet door I heard a commotion behind me and turned. It was you. Of course it was you. You’re always there when I need you.

“Hey, Po’Boy, whatcha lookin’ for?” you ask sweeping into the room and smelling wonderful. I still have no idea why you call me Po’Boy. You know my name, but you never call me by it.

“I want to make sabayon,” I say, “but I can’t find your double boiler. Where do you keep it?”

“I think I have one right here,” you tell me as you head for the pantry. “It’s not something I need too often and I did loan it to Heather a few months ago, but I’m pretty sure that she brought it right back.” I hear you moving things around in the pantry. Pretty soon you’re back out in the kitchen holding two fitted saucepans made of copper. “Here, try this,” you set the contraption on the counter top, sarcastically, adding, “Do you need me to separate the eggs for you? Get the sugar? Do you know where I keep my whisk?”

I shake my head and hold out my arms. You leaned in for a hug and a cuddle. My eyes close, as I savour the moment and hold you tight, “Can I borrow some Marsala?” I whisper in your ear.

To this, you laugh and smack me on the shoulder. “Let me do this, just get out of my kitchen,” you tease, and I run for the door.

“I put fresh berries in your fridge,” I call over my shoulder.

“Put the game on,” she calls back. “The Leafs are playing the Habs tonight. They drop the puck at seven.


This week’s prompts are

  1. Diamonds on my windshield
  2. Try this
  3. I think I have one right here

 


 

Random Thoughts About Poetry

Whiling away some time



Lyrics linger in the wake of her passing, and the memory of her scent. The floral arôme that falls lazily to the pavement and lingers.

Oh, to hear the poem shouted by the fog creeping silently up the quiet streets of this decaying seaside town.

The wet smell of the swamp arrives ripe with rhyme and emotion.

Verses flutter earthward from the limbs of the Ginko where they wait to be collected by groundskeepers and hidden from our sight: forever.

Song lives in the words of the poet and the lingering drops of a summer shower.


This Vet group has prompted me to think.

OLWG #22 – Newlyweds

I had a good time with these prompts. No such thing as too much practice!

 Written for OLWG #22



Danielle and I were newlyweds when I first learned about her “sensitivity” to caffeine.  Her folks had stayed at our house while we were on our honeymoon. That had worked out well, as they were able to look after the dogs for the week and a half that we were in Mexico. I was going to take them to the airport this afternoon and they were going back to Cincinnati, leaving my bride and me to get busy with married life.

The entire time that we had been dating and cohabitating she never drank coffee or tea. I just assumed that she didn’t like them. She wasn’t into sugary drinks either. She ate healthy. Organic produce, very little beef; chicken, fish, and eggs were her main sources of protein. She exercised and was physically fit.

That first morning after returning from Puerto Vallarta she woke early.

“Stay in bed for awhile, honey,” she whispered to me. “I’m going to go downstairs and make breakfast before Mom and Dad get up.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and got out of the bed. I rolled over and closed my eyes, I did not intend to go back to sleep, but I did.

Some time later I woke up to a loud crash from downstairs. Not knowing what to think, but fearing the worst, I leapt from the bed and ran downstairs in my boxers. Turning at the base of the stairs I encountered my first problem when I entered the living room, falling flat on my face. The furniture was rearranged and I had tripped over the coffee table, badly bruising my shin and breaking a front tooth. Danielle was headed my way fast. She stepped on my fingers as she knelt down next to me and handed me a napkin wrapped around a cinnamon roll.

“Oh good, you’re finally up,” she said as she stood, grinding my fingers into the floor. “Here’s a sticky bun, I have laundry in the washer, can you move it to the dryer for me when it’s done washing? There’s a coffee cake in the oven and you can pull it out when the timer goes off. Put lots of butter on the top and then put the crumbles on. They’re in the bowl next to the stove. I’ve gotta go – got errands to run! I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She jingled her keys, gave my butt a squeeze and ran out the front door. I heard the car lay rubber as she pulled away from the house.

“What happened here?” My father in law asked as he hit the bottom stair and saw me sprawled on the floor.

“I’m not really sure,” I answered him as I struggled back to my feet. “I think, I’ve seen the devil.”

“Danielle?” he asked, and I nodded my head as I watched him move into the kitchen. “Here’s the problem,” he said. I came up behind him and peered over his shoulder. He was looking at a half pot of coffee sitting in the coffee maker, “That girl can’t handle coffee. I thought you’da known that by now.”

“Jeeze,” I said and I shook my head.

“My fault,” he said, “I shoulda warned you. She gets that from her mother, I thought you knew. You should never give her coffee.”

“Well, she won’t be having any more.” I said.

Just then the timer sounded for the coffee cake. I turned it off and opened the oven. It was a beautiful cake so I grabbed a couple pot holders, pulled it out and set it on top of the stove next to the pan of cinnamon rolls.

“Do you guys want some sweets for breakfast?” I asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll go get Marge but you need to pour out that coffee, turn off the pot and open a window to air this place out. I don’t want Marge to be tempted. That’s the last thing we need.” He headed back upstairs and I did as he had asked.

I buttered the top of the cake and put the crumble on just as Danielle’s parents got downstairs. Her mom gave me the once over and raised one eyebrow.

“I was just going up for some clothes.” I hurried out of the room for a sweat shirt and trousers. When I got back down Hank and Marge were seated at the kitchen table with orange juice and thick slices of coffee cake.

Marge looked up at me, “I like what you’ve done to the living room,” she intoned, “Where’s Danielle?”

“She’s just running some errands,” I said.

My mother in law started nodding her head knowingly, “You should never let that girl have coffee, you know. It makes her a little hyper. It’ll wear off in time though.”

I swallowed, “How long?”

“Two or three days is all. You shouldn’t lose too much sleep.” Marge and Hank both smiled at me and had another bite of coffee cake.


This week’s prompts are:

  1. I have seen the devil
  2. What happened here?
  3. She won’t be having anymore

 

And Now For Something Completely Different

ghazal



The summer sky at Trinity is bigger than in New York.
Still today, some can sense the past; peeking out from the edges of the clouds.

 

In the hush of the auditorium, I hear my words reverberate around the room.
Passing the open door by the stage, I see the poet who’s reading my poems. He is not me.

 

Open your eyes, look into the light, hush and wait for the glare to fade. See how gently
her robe falls open; wait for it all to shatter; wait for the vision to begin again.

 

The glacier calves again and again; each bergy bit set free; to roam the seas,
to evanesce, run aground, and scour the seabed. To finally disappear, forgotten and lost.

 

No, it’s not about you. It’s not about how you look or what you think –
it’s about her – how she haunts my dreams; ephemeral,  fugitive, making me long for sleep.


I just submitted this ghazal to the poetry contest being hosted by Kayla Ann on her site – read more about the contest here:

https://kaylaannauthor.wordpress.com/2017/10/21/poetry-competition/

OLWG #21 – Joy

I was going to write for the second set of prompts. It got away from me and this somehow appeared on the page. I guess I ignored those prompts

 Written for OLWG #21



I met her in the dance hall where she worked
‘Dime a dance’
I introduced myself, “Sam,” said I, extending my hand
“Joy,” she said in kind as she stands.

She’s not like the other girls who have drawn my attention
she’s taller than I; red corkscrews frame her face.
She has milky white skin, heavy breasts and hips.
A dusting of freckles decorates her nose and cheek bones.

“What brings you to The Five Boroughs?” she asks;
light accent lending music to her words.
“Sailor on shore leave,” I explain,
“you?”

“I live here,” she says.
She leans in close and we dance.
At ten cents per, I buy her entire card for a song.
We spend the evening together.

She won’t let me steal a kiss when the ball room closes,
but she gives me her address and permission to write.
I write, I write daily.
She writes back.


This week there are two sets of prompts. I ignored both for this post:

  1. I’m gonna be late for work
  2. Hippopotamus
  3. Wait till your father gets home
  1. They had one greedy son
  2. King of clubs
  3. I do