The Poem Starts To Start Over

NEAL BOWERS

THE POSE

Under the awning,

where the light yellows a little

like chardonnay,

she is her own portrait,

moody on the Boulevard St-Germain,

pouring little puddles

from her glass onto the tabletop,

noting how the water holds steady

as the glass tilts away,

not minding the waiter's stares,

because she is on the edge of metaphor

and feels very French

(by way of Ohio):

The day tips and everyone spills

toward evening-yes, yes-

and she writes this on her soggy napkin,

the letters bleeding wide

into a blurry watercolor

of which she is the main subject.

Structure

21 lines · 3 stanzas