Tell Me More Poetry by Nancy Duci Denofio

Brandy Wine Diner 1959

It's three o'clock
on a Sunday morning,
a grey curtain of smoke
surrounds you - at Brandy
wine Diner.

Two men share a booth,
both sip coffee from small
white cups - their finger’s
play with white bags of
sugar.

Across from them a young
girl stares, into her
personal fog. . . she holds
the wrong side of her cup -

she crushes one cigarette,
lights another - fog thickens.

A man - hung-over, a black and
white counter -leans on his arm’s,
his clothes soiled by coffee
spilled. . .
He peeks between his finger’s
glares into a mirror hung,
below a stack of Rice Krispies,
Corn Flakes, Shredded Wheat.
A face of a stranger.

A gust of wind pushes
the glass door, open . . .
blinded by iridescent green.
Iridescent green - opens
eyes of the man leaning -
on the counter…
shimmering green catches
the attention of the man
reading the paper…
startles the girl smoking her
third cigarette.

A patron struts past
the counter, all eyes stare;
she flops into a booth in
a corner, next to a man wearing
a black leather jacket
Hells Angels - scrolled on his back…

I reach, poke my finger into a
slit in the red upholstery,
picturing the person who
held the knife.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all work copyrighted