By Gene Novogrodsky

Smoke in her hair,
Hair just dyed – blue-black,
She drinks beer upon beer, and
I pay.

Watered beer?

Karaoke blares.
Pool cues smack balls.

I can’t hear her.
She can’t hear me.

Mouth to ear, through coils of smoky and perfumed hair.
Mouth to ear, direct.

Contrived?

Blue-grey smoke settles.
Beer, in dark brown bottles,
Beer, yellow in glasses.

“No, I don’t want your phone number
Because I know you’re here,
Four hours nightly, and the stool next
To you is always empty. Remember,
You told me?”

I tell her through hair.
She says to my ear,
“Yes, I did,” and she
Starts to sing the Karaoke lyrics
That are on a screen -
But no reading – by memory ….

No Karaoke in the soft piano-tape-tinkle coffee shop.
Laptops, touch touch. Soft.
New York Times, soft rustle.

No ears invite mouths.

A church of coffee and internet
And connections.

Stocks up, stocks down.
Vacation flights.