Waterfire

Bathed and wrung,
she sits heavily
on a wooden bench
popcorn crushed
beneath her boots

as the hot summer night air
drifts her and surrounds her
pushes feverishly on her back
and shoulders
begging and pleading for recognition

a man stands nearby
toes pointed towards the river
that runs through the city
like a sword through
his heart

his hand trembles as he
brings a cigarette to and from
his mouth
his hair the color
of a cream rug stained with wine
and a chin hard and rough
as stucco

his eyes catch
in the basket of hers
a careless handful
of fruit in the wrong crate
his expression older
yet none wiser
and nevertheless
the message is the same:

"I want attention."