Monday, December 25, 2006

Not the Queen of Belgium

Share it Please
By Althea Romeo-Mark
Arthur
in the roost of regulars
is hunting for birds.
Hawklike, he circles the tables
smoke and voices
fill the neighborhood bar.
Nestling into a chair
Arthur inserts himselt
into a conversation.
His buddies drink beer
Arthur orders wine
eyes light on two women.

They haven't noticed
the gaping man
rising.
He swoops down
on them
pulls up a chair.
Muratti cigarette
clasped between fingers
he addresses the slim one.
Are you the Beatrice?
Are you the Queen?
The Queen of Belgium?
He strokes her blue-veined hand
cigarette smoke swirls
onto her companion's face.
No, I'm not.
White teeth clench
between stretched lips.
The cigarette butts
he has puffed on
pack the ashtray.
Recognition sparks in her eyes
Arthur Bridgstone
the serial-groper.
Spanish class 1995
unemployed
depression-riddles.
Are you Queen Beatrice?
The thick voice
jolts her thoughts.
Will you dine with me?
Will you go dancing with me?
Will you come home....?
Plucking a rose from a passing vendor
he pays for it
presents it to her.
A queen doesn't go out with riff-raff
she screams
crushing the rose under her heels.

(c) Althea Romeo-Mark 2003

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