Bar and Grill
Bodies pile around tables
sticky with beer and hot sauce
from buffalo wings. Bloated
faces shout at each other
above music turned up to jet’s
roar, a contest for who
can eat more hot wings
without drinking. Sweat
drips from chins and foreheads.
Smiles grin red-toothed
death masks. Looking
for a new way to fly,
all these whispers unheard
within the roar. Lights blink
and burning lips close
as doors open. A cold wind
shocks me with empty streets.
Cool blue pools of light
lead me into a distance,
where night digests me.
A blind dog smells faces
that linger in shadows
just beyond its nose,
inhales a smile
through the way breath
changes, a hovering
aroma that broadens.
She has lived a world
one inch above the floor
that I will never know,
with all my ideas,
no more substance than
scents she memorized
over a lifetime and now
recites with eyes closed.
Richard Dinges has an MA in literary studies from University of Iowa and manages business systems at an insurance company. Most recent acceptances include Miller's Pond, Steam Ticket, Hurricane Review, Abbey, and River Oak Review.