Chivalry

Even though it was my prompt for We Write Poems this week, I couldn’t help writing another one for it. I’ve gotten so into the habit of doing those prompts on Tuesday evenings that it didn’t feel right not to. So, as before, the idea was to write about something that happened in five seconds or less; and this was a thing that happened on Saturday/Sunday at 4:30 am at a deli in Hell’s Kitchen, in about that length of time. I left out the context a lot to focus on just that moment, and I hope that made the poem more flexible in its interpretation. My thoughts on some of the significances therein will remain my own, perhaps.

And speaking of moments, Curio Poetry is still taking submissions! You ought to consider having a look at the guidelines and sending an email to curiopoetry (at) gmail (dot) com with some juicy tidbits.

And while I’m doing shameless self-promotions, I point your attention once again to Greeks Bearing Gifts, which a few enterprising readers that truly have too much faith in my writing (you guys make me blush much!) have already ordered. I wonder, would anyone care to do a virtual book tour? I’ve been enamored of this concept ever since Sarah Sloat‘s In the Voice of a Minor Saint, and if a few someones would be willing to put a review on their blog of Greeks, I suppose I could provide an e-copy. (Though of course, if you would like to procure your own, I won’t object. ^_^)

Chivalry

is not dead

if, in his berserker rage, the animal
should charge his way in through the deli door,
shuddering hands reaching for
the throats and breasts of blondes,
and

he should be met by
four or five lads with hair on their knuckles
who corral him with the grace of toreadors

(and one, with the kind of barroom judo
that only comes out
in this hour when Sunday morning can no longer
truthfully be called Saturday night,
flips him

easy as blackjack, or maybe
easy as bowling, into the drinks case)

and should he be
sprawled out in a jewel house of cans, bottles,
crimson, emerald, cobalt metal,

the air humid with alcohol-sweat, and
four or five lads ignoring his whines to be sure
his bystanders are unharmed: then,
the woman with only one hint of a bruise
pollinating her lip,

she has a moment to glide back a step,
regard with a queen’s regard, considering,
considering: