No Apparent Reason
He pounds the table in an exaggerated, dramatic way to capture full attention. It works. His “important” announcement pertains to an accomplishment of his—achieved by luck and circumstance—of course. To be honest, I ceased paying attention once his table-pounding, circus act stopped. This self-absorbed jerk is a specimen in my life-long study of humanity. I’m discovering what a f-ed-up category of animal humans really are. Observing Mr. Look-At-Me and the host of believers, makes me wonder if there’s anyone among us who isn’t a bundle of insecurities and self-doubt? Reflexively, I check the collar of my cornflower blue button-down shirt. I startle when I discover that one side is not buttoned. Damn! Damn! DAMN! How could I have missed it? Damn, I hope no one notices. I’m not vain—I just wish to blend in, unnoticed. Having one side of a collar unbuttoned draws attention. I don’t like attention. I want to be anonymous…invisible. A nobody. My goal is to be a face in the crowd…to fall into the category of “and there were others,” when someone describes the “who” in who was there and then adds, and there were others.
gray suit
he stares straight and fingers
pocket change
- Jeffrey Winke
(featured in the poetry forum 01.09.10)
Wily Eyebrows Almost Meeting
The request is delivered with such certainty that the timid, but brawny, cobbler thinks nothing of it ‘till the wood-frame glass door slaps the bells hanging in the sway. The customer leaves clutching the buff-color claim ticket. “How will I do this?” he thinks. “Such an odd request,” he says aloud to the fat orange cat dozing in the front window just below the sign, Ye Olde Cobbler Shoppe. The black, comfortably-worn shoes in question sit in the metal-mesh work-order basket, soles-side up. In his caloused right palm are two shiny Kennedy-half dollars. “It’s a powerful metaphor, you see,” the customer had said. “It represents our dire economy and bleak future, you see.” He furrows his brow – thick, wily eyebrows almost meeting – while re-reading the work order: FASTEN, EMBED OR OTHERWISE ATTACH PROVIDED HALF-DOLLAR COINS – ONE PER SHOE – TO SOLES. “Whatever happens, you see,” he had said. “I can stand tall knowing, I’m standing on my last dollar.”
icy rain
the tombstone reads – HE LIVED
IN HIS OWN WORLD
- Jeffrey Winke
(featured in the poetry forum 04.19.09)
Induced by Beautiful Women with Samba Hips
Alternate dimensions exist. At least for me they do. A
favorite is Rio de Janeiro. My alternate Rio is
sultry, historic and simmering with excitement. It is
a dreamy state induced by beautiful women with samba
hips. It is blasting through winding stone-paved
narrow streets on a beat-to-hell Riga moped and then
lounging at a humid, mid-day streetside café with an
ice-filled tumbler of the clear sugarcane alcohol,
cachaça, and lime slices. There is a seductive
softness with blurred edges to this existence.
Everyone is beautiful, time stalls and life is
savored. My alternate dimension Rio is best captured
in the photos of Lala Mártin. She lives there
and doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve named her the
official photographer of my alternate dimension Rio.
her warm breath
fills the space between us
with smoke
- Jeffrey Winke
(featured in the poetry forum 01.06.09)
A Gossamer Connective Thread
The incantations are mystic and ancient. In a low,
guttural basilect variant of creole her tranquilizing
voice transmits a gossamer connective thread to his
center. He barely needs it since his heart aches for
her touch. He is 912 miles away. They feel the hollow
pain of separation. She is her mamma’s daughter and
carries the hoodoo DNA of her mother’s mother’s mother
who had been seduced by a snake charmer on a hot July
night deep in the French Quarter. She coos into the
receiver of the phone, ar-gur-hom, ar-gur-hom,
ar-gur-hom. Her lips brushing the dimples of the
mouthpiece as she envelops him in viscerial sensations
while he yields to her control. In a seductive
whisper, she repeats it more urgently -- ar-gur-hom,
ar-gur-hom, ar-gur-hom. It will happen. They can
sense it. With her behest of touch me, his hands
became her hands and the miles of separation dissolve
into a swirl of bliss.
noisy state fair --
on the small of her back
his light touch
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 11.24.08)
I’ll Tell You So
Lurking behind him with a barely audible but keenly
understood grumble, his shadow taunts. I am with you
always – even in the dark. I am the doubt in
self-doubt, your nightmare when you sleep, the ache in
your heart for your lost love. Even the full sun,
which casts his shadow out, does no good. You’re not
rid of me, bitch. The sun will set and I’ll be back
inside. You’re no good, worthless, and I’ll tell you
so…oh, I’ll tell you so.
favorite shirt
the grease stain
won’t bleach out
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 11.24.08)
Leaving vapors of soft light
Ahhhhh, what a comfortable setting for a hide-away
cottage. Dense forest of cedar and pine sway gently in
the Spring breeze. String-based Classical plays on the
stereo, filling the room and pushing through the
screen door. The sound intertwines among the tree
limbs leaving vapors of soft light. I expect to see a
fair maiden in flowing white come traipsing towards me
doing delicate figure eights through the sturdy trees
and followed by the cast of Bambi – even the
understudy animals that never made it to film and who
have lived penniless in total anonymity because ol’
Walt Disney was in reality an evil, exploitive bastard
who probably was in cahoots with the animal-testing
cosmetics industry that allows poor innocent furry
animals to be tortured and preyed upon so that the
dancing maiden out there can look so comely, with that
hint of blush on her cheeks. The damn bitch.
gingham luncheonette
a faint odor…
burnt coffee
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 11.24.08)
Undulating Curves and Simple
She slips all svelte into the vintage mid-century lounge with its undulating curves and simple presence. Her slender shape is one with the chair’s curvature. A delicate hand descends into a tender caress. Pulses of attraction pheromones exude from her as she demurely succumbs to her own desires while a soft moan becomes a closed-eye smile.
winter night
he combs eBay for
girlie pin-ups
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 10.27.08)
Pattern As Though He Were
The display shows different patterns – brake lock, heel and toe, irregular, and shoulder edge. Diego smiles broadly, his perfect white teeth exude trust. With a rough-skin hand he caresses the wear pattern as though he were stroking the baby-soft cheek of his Latina lover in prelude to hot passion. “Like yours, you see, she has worn here due to NE-glect,” he says with accusatory emphasis. I brace myself. “You have no choice,” Diego says paternally. “All four tires are very dangerously worn and require immediate replacement.”
kitchen counter
an overdraft notice
atop the paycheck
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 10.27.08)
That Perfect Glow from Dusky
It’s one of those nights when closing time creeps up too soon. The jazz quintet is smooth and the smoky brunette at the nearby high-top table looks more enigmatic than is healthy. Her occasional giddiness conflicts with her art-deco legginess. I wish to freeze her in her dark-eyed mystery. I wish to freeze the band at their Jive Samba epiphany. I wish to freeze that perfect glow from dusky lampshades and candlelight. I wish to freeze the clock, which advances in double time toward the worse two words of the night: last call.
early a.m. coffee
a missed appointment’s
weight
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 10.27.08) |
