Sunday Evening Paper Boy
Red stripes and
Meditations on a branch of lavender
Trapped under a plastic lid
Lattes that we could not locate
In the cafe of a bookstore
Trapped in Sunday evening whispers
Circumscribing melodies
Of an erratic dream
Nowadays the aristocracy appropriates
The newsboy hat
And I admire golden buttons
Jutting from your blazer
Stripped out of a private school
I dispel this smoky reverie that
Drowns out tomes of fresh
Encyclopedias and we are on the search
For lavender mint lattes
On the tenth floor of an ersatz bookstore
Resembling the Barnes and Noble in
Manhattan
You were wedged between a luncheon
And a family reunion
Celebrating Easter colors
Overtaking North Pole blue
Running promptly
Though it was already time
My lacy dress appearing
Only in a dream for you
Synchronized in colors
And in appetites for old cartoons
Resembling a locomotive fire
Burning energy into the vestiges of fumes
I was on your arm and I could not
Remember whether we’d acquired tea
But you had to leave before
I could tell you
How I was
Liza Libes founded her literary project, Pens and Poison, in New York City. Her writing has appeared in Gone Lawn, Willows Wept Review, Jewish Women of Words and elsewhere. Liza is also an entrepreneur and a classical music enthusiast.
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