I'm not a poet -- I write about storm troopers and supernatural psychos -- but I just found out that my poem "Cafe Habana, 10 AM" won first prize in Hershey Public Library's Writing Contest.
So as a curiosity, I'm posting it here.
CAFÉ HABANA, 10 AM
His wife’s convinced it’s cancer
But he knows it’s just the Cuban food
They ate the day before, breakfast at the café
On Prince Street, huevos con chorizo
While the dark-haired waitress climbs up next to him
To draw the blinds, murmuring, Donde esta el Sol,
Her sundress rising as her calf brushes against his bare arm
Giving him chills. With every bite of eggs he endeavors
To commit this Sunday morning to memory:
The bearded young father at the counter reading the Times
To his beautiful lion-blonde son, the slant of light,
Flat palm fronds painted along the walls, blue water glasses and
Grilled and buttered corn with Parmesan and cayenne that makes his lips tingle
The way they sometimes do just before he’s about to fall asleep.
Knowing even now that soon enough the engines of forgetfulness
Will go about their business of dismantling
All this, every detail, striking the sets of emotional attachment,
Even the Caribbean heat so pleasurably twisting his midwestern guts,
Until all that’s left are his wife’s worries and the knowledge that
They’re already breaking down, these once young and vital bodies
They were born into already streaking upward
Through the sunlight and across Prince Street,
Into a sky bluer than the water glasses they left behind.