He writes me poetry

i'm a strange girl.
i go to bars by myself, to write.

to decompress. to be by myself around others.
to have a bit of scotch. to watch and be watched.

this night, there was a young man with glasses, at the far right end of the bar, where it wraps in to kiss the wall. contempletatively staring off into the distance, to the left of my face.

i too this night, was wearing my glasses. by the end of the day, they irritate my nose, and i worked with the image of myself reflected in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, alternatively taking them off... placing them in front of me, securing them into my curly head of hair, putting them on, taking them off again, placing them on the bar, putting them on again, then agitated, repeating the process, removing them and massaging the bridge of my nose.

alternatively, in my leatherbound graph paper journal, i wrote.

every so often, at some point or another in the glasses removed and replaced ritual, i would glance up, and find the gentleman at the end of the bar gazing in my direction. i would return a conteplative into the air stare, meanwhile trying to decipher if he was looking at me or not, at someone behind me, or inside to his minds eye. this happened a series of times, until no longer a question that he was infact looking at me. i put on different faces, each time it happened. then eventually embarrassed and aware that he was watching me, i grew self conscious. bite my lip and look away, you're still staring. you're almost smiling.

move. now.

i gathered myself, my stuff, i had come right from work. so much stuff. a jacket. my book. the bag, stuffed with books, mail, bills to handle. find a couch. tuck away. hiding, hide. writing, write.

into the ante room, this is where the band plays. bay windows. the room is empty still early as it is, and i walked in, waving hello to my rastas, walking arms full to the back. nothing intrigues me here, energetically. i turn to wander back and catch the ethiopian barhand blowing up at the chinese jaybird that is always here, a great dance partner, with about 3 working braincells. he has a mustache, thin, and a ponytail, and when he talks, you can hardly understand a thing he says.

jaybird had helped himself to the bar, and was serving the patrons free drinks. but ethiopia shouted respect at him. he's angry, and i rarely see the slender mello man angry. man! he said. you need to respect. why you come behind the bar? why, man? respect, man!

respect... it echoed in my mind as i walked away. respect.

behind the band was a couch to the side, a little table, and a corner where i decided to stash my load. helloing the drummer, i leaned in towards him, hugged, and asked if i could follow him for a bit.

he smiled at me, and asked why. i replied simply and plainly. "i just like being around you." his smile broadened, and a space in his eyes told me that he didn't believe me. "and why is that," he prompted. i shined the five year old at him and shrugged, acting as though it was beyond me, this reason. "i don't know, just something about you.... "

then i changed the subject, talking music, there is a woman i met on a train from new york to boston some months back, and would he meet her? shes brazilian, she has locks, i know he would love her. he nods, affirmatively. ya, bring her down, im really interested... you know i play brazilain music right.. i tell him in return, how very talented he is. he scoffs. "alright alright, just because you're my friend you don't have to make stuff up." i most certainly am not making it up, i laugh, and turn away. still holding my book, looking for a corner to tuck away in, the room is still empty, let me visit the twins.

you may already know my friend roots, older of the pair, i smoked a joint in a stuffy room with him last week this time, and i say my hellos again. his brother's son plays the piano, a beautiful young black boy that works at the whole foods in my neighborhood. something about it all makes me very happy... these people are good souls, and i like being around them. this night, he wants a cigarette, and i have one. but before we go back up stairs to have the joint and the talk and the visit...

there is a long haired indian, deliciously beautiful sitting on the couch before him. he introduces me to the boy, who happens to be border famous. a bass player, new to my city, hailing from sunny stretches, the other side of the coast, here playing with my favorite group. he looks older. oh, that long hair. half closed bedroom eyes. he's beautiful.

at this point, i know who i am chasing tonite.
after all, long hair always makes me a little wet.

**********************************************


its a funny night to be there, because my clothes are ultra casual. tennis shoes, a white puffy jacket vest. jeans. i thought i was rock climbing, but my partner had cancelled. a hard day at work. glasses that don't know whether to stay on my head or get stashed in my bag. hair big, unwashed. a sight. rockin it anyway.

i sat down and began shooting the shet with this mellow eyed beauty, playing the buddy card. he entertains my questions, humors the conversation. tells me how he plays for a band called _______. this band only one of the best bands in town. its only one of the most talented music groups i know. i look at him over my glasses and feign ignorance. "oh... i don't think i've ever heard of them...." i start. then laugh. "so are you going to play then, with these guys?" i challenge.

he shrugs indifference. cocks a knowing eyebrow and says, "bassists are always protective of their gigs."

meanwhile, my friend from the bar has entered the room, along with many others. he is standing on the steps, the three that come down the landing into this lower room. an eye on him through out. he is holding his drink, bopping his head, the band has begun, we are all starting to slip into this wednesday night magic carpet of soul sounding samba.

fame city jumps up here (apruptly) and grabs his bass (laying out and ready) and starts to play, jumping up and down dramatically. long hair in his face. i can't see him really because there is a speaker in the way, and a part of me senses he is showing off, therefore i actually have no problem redirecting my attention to roots, who has joined me on the couch. and when he leaves and i start writing again.

shortly later the sexy comes back. i smile at him politely, and lose myself in music. in my graph paper book. my friend from the bar, still elevated on the steps, still smiling. he finds my eye, looks directly at me. i look back at him, then away. embarrassed. honestly, this time.

i begin to think of how this one wants to buy me a drink. i think that long haired fame has gotten enough of me for now. how its time to move on. i start to plot the attack for the night.

moving away from both of them, i crossed the room and joined my older rasta again, as he sits letting the music fill the room and rolling a joint. i motion for it, and he hands it to me, telling me to keep my hand down, to be discreet. i make sure both men have a good view of me though, in with the band, grooving to the beat, oblivious to them. im not even mentioning number three, an indirect target that once upon i likedm but never got attention from. tonight however, he has his eyes on me. 12 o clock, number three. 1 o'clock the man from the bar, and at 2 o'clock, sir rockstar.

smoking. dancing. upstairs bathroom back rejoin the bassist and up again. dancing. dancing. the boy from the bar is now even closer, dancing as well, next to me. i act like i don't see him. he pretends he doesn't need to talk to me. we dont dance together, we arent far apart.

my dancing fluid, his... undescribable. jerky. beat fitting, but almost like a duck... enthusiastic. confounding in the sense that you needed to understand why he moved like that.

finally, i break the unspoken. "tell me your name?"
he receives me, at attention. without surprise. "my name is leonardo!! i am italian!!"

a step back. whoa.
he naturally, leans in.

takes me by the arm. "i have been watching you, all night!"

"have you?"

"oh, yes!" the accent is thick, thick italian. he looks white, a round face, lighter hair. dark rimmed spectacles. "and i think you must have a blog somewhere! tell me, where is it! i want to read what you write!"

oh my. an enthusiast.
my writing. he has no idea what he is asking for!
i lean back more, my eyes wide, i am amused, but sufficiently chased here that i actually am pulling back, and oh fortituous chance! the rockstar walks by right now, i exaggerate my mock alarm about the italian and send a save me look at him, as he passes by. his eyebrow twitches.. and he continues moving through the crowd.

i look at leonardo. simply, "do you want to buy me a drink?"
"oh yes! what are you drinking!?" i want cranberry and vodka.

he takes my hand, and i let myself get pulled to the bar, passing the longhaired rockstar on the way.


**********************************************

once at the bar, he turns to me again. "a blog! you must tell me where it is!"

i can't possibly. where does my writing live? on my board? in secret blogs or myspace pages restricted to friends? in my email accounts, in correspondences? and what do i even write about? nothing coherant anyway. thoughts. musings. and this stranger, the very idea!

just because you want it, does not obligate me to give it to you.

i change the subject, and say, "you have been watching me all night, have you..."

and his answer. "yes. i was watching your glasses, watching you taking them on and off. it was quite fascinating. and your writing, you were writing. i very much liked it."

"you liked the glasses, or the act of removing and replacing the glasses?" here i leaned into the bar to catch the etheopian's attention.

"it was The Act of removing and replacing them. most certainly."

something about him. smarter than he seemed. perceptive. and chasing me. but something about that makes me nervous. so it was time to vamoos. also, i no longer had the rockstar in eye sight. a single moment of panic hits, shit. now what.

so, i took my leave of him.

eventually through dancing and luring other stargazers in close enough to reject, the indian longhair reappeared. i laughed something at him about protecting me, showing real relief when he popped back up. i asked if he wanted to run away from the place and smoke at my apt, not so far away. he thought for a moment then accepted the invitation.

but just before i left, i said good bye to the italian leonardo. on the dance floor as he danced like a duck, and looked at me with probing eyes, i gave him a single instruction:

"if you want to know where i write, post a missed connection for me, in tomorrow's craigslist mc section."

beat

"you want me, to post, a missed connection, for you, on craigslist?"

"yes. i will look for you."

and i turned, and left, taking the bassist home, leaving the italian behind. dodging hands all night, company kept all night, as beautiful as you are, you're just another boy, serving tea in the morning, eating feta, talking life philosphically. a friend along this time for my morning metro ride. my number on the back of a receipt from the back of my changepurse wallet.. ill call you. please do.

a busy day at work. forgetting to remember to check anything, until a little thought comes, at the end of the day.

so i checked, and found the title:

repressed poet--if only the axis of evil looked like you.

regardless of whether you leave your glasses on, or not. Indeed, watching you decide on the matter was almost as intriguing as wondering what were you writing on your notebook. there must be a blog where i and the world should be able to read what's going on in your obviously fertile mind. tell me where i am from. let's write stuff up together.

the rockstar still hasn't called. but the italian did as was asked.

scoring on the long hair, with a story called i met someone famous;
held back on even a number with an intelligent foreigner, and now he writes me poetry.

Domino

at the bar.

sorrow is hitting and so, she finds her friend, the scotch.

she calls it the place where everyone knows her name. its like cheers but swanky. the blond waitress greets her with a hug. hello! how are you. tittery. seriously blonde. tight energy, but cute, and obviously has had to deal with one too many drunk hands up her skirt. she hugs her friend back, telling her how pretty she is tonight. the too often serious face lights up, flattered. "thank you! you're always so sweet to me."

"doing well?" the pretty blond asks.
she shrugs wryly. "looking for some scotch."
the blond nods back, she can see weariness on the girls face.

looking around, she shrugs off the coat. her asian friend is here tonight, yes again, the wise bar sage that comes here as much as she does. consoles her when shes feeling blue about a boy. they've had a few good talks, she feels safe around him. she looks around for a barstool. the guy next to her has a thin moustache and abruptly gets of his seat offering it. she smiles shyly, oh no, thank you, but i couldnt possibly. his movements are sudden, and a little alarming. no,no! he says. i insist! with wide eyes and a smile she reserves for crazies... she sits down.

she pulls out the leather bound notebook from her pack and starts to write. chang looks over, smiles warmly at her. she smiles back then turns back to the book, nursing the scotch. scotch is for celebration and for sorrow she hears echo in her head, in her voice, shouted at a boy in new york city on the eve of the new year, from behind a mask. by this time chang is intrigued by the focus of her writing and peers over her furiously scribbling hand.

the madness of a disconnected and glazed void?
a weak inner protest of the heart's greatest desires
met indifferently?

the stir of insane and sudden self destruct,
hovering in the wings of the this stage called life,
like death.

pretending not to know whats important.
this was the theme of the evening's metro ride reflection home.

she punctuates the sentence and closes the book.. pulling the rubber band over it. he picks it up, inspecting it.
"may i?"

she meditates. its full of secrets, this one. secret hatreds.
she shrugs her permission, and pulls her breath in to have another swig of her scotch.

picking up the book, he opens it to the place where she last rested her pen and begins to read. he reads only that page, and closing the book with the rubber band, he places it on the bar before them and leans in confidentially. "do you have self esteem issues?" he asks.

she stares at him indifferently. blankly. "probably."
he leans back. "i have one peice of advice..." he begins.

thank you chang. thank you for caring.

they launch into a conversation about whats wrong these days. her discontent wavers between apathy and dissappointment... she's stuck in a cycle of wanting to experience magic, and realizing that none of it is real. his careful attention warms her, but her complaining tires her. and she soon finds the conversation to be bringing her down even more. while she found refuge in her babbling, in him listening the entire time carefully, like a psychologist, she starts to tire of this subject matter.

distraction. get me a cigarette.

a man walks in.
whiplash. his energy catches her.

shark.

who. is. that.



**********

Domino II

**********

yes, cigarettes are illegal now in her city, but sassy still feels certain she can uproot one. perfect timing, here comes roots. she abruptly changes the subject and looks at her indulgent friend. "hold that thought," she says. "are you here? ill be right back." she catches her rasta friend by the arm as he glides by.

"hey baby, got cigarettes?"
"not allowed to smoke anymore"
"no, no. down stairs." she motions expressively with her hands. theres an urgency in her face. he understands.

he takes her by the hand and leads her up the winding stairs of the bar.

they pass the drummer on their way up. hes married but one night they shared flirtations before she realized it. ever since, its been strange, the energy sexual as he keeps his distance and she hers, but still, she knows shes got him, he has tasted her if even breifly. that kind of intoxicating effect lingers... she's fond of triangulating these two, the dynamic gets interesting, they are band mates. he nods at her, respectfully. appreciatively, and a touch carnivorously. then him. they glide by. enter the back room upstairs.

"now this here is the smoking room. now that the cigarettes out down stairs, i wager it's the smoking smoking room." he has a slight lisp when he talks, an older rasta, making music, trying to take it all one day at a time. fishing out a marlboro light for her, he lights it then starts rolling a joint. "damn its hot in here."

indeed it was. the room was stuffy, with a heater stuffing the only window of the small room acting as the heating agent. the door didnt open easily without risk of an alarm sounding, so they made them selves comfortable with the stuffiness and the smoke.

ah roots. hes always the perfect touch of ego for her, he spends all their time together complementing her. gorgeous timing to hear about the woman she was, this night had been sobering. blue.. yes, tell me, and he went at length on the power she has. the beauty she can be. and is often seen as. they shared words, that uplifted her with the pace of the joint they pass back and forth. "yea girl, you are a WOMAN," he says to her. "and that's respect." he has conviction in his voice. "not a little girl. i know. i done seen you." she listens carefully... sometimes the universe talked to her through these kind souls, and she never wanted to miss a thing..

soon warmed on a few levels, they come out to travel back down the stairs. back out. back down. chang is still at the bar, hunched over his drink, grinning. she slides back next to him and flashes a grin herself. she's starting to feel that sassy twitch. like things were about to get interesting.

"champagne?" chang asks her.
"why yes. certainly." she smiles back.

as they wait for the champagne to be poured, she takes stock of the bar patrons. one boy at the end is staring at her. he has glasses and a pale face with dredlocks. she notes and moves on. another boy, short hair, of middle eastern decent, is chatting up two black girls. he is bring very expressive with hands and face and they look completely uninterested in what he has to say. she whaps chang on the arm. "hey, take a look at this."

as they watch, the hyper guy keeps chatting them up, and they seem to try to politely tolerate him. the bar rats comment on the success rate, laugh at the kids game, sympathetically. why did he choose them? why are they talking to him? then a much darker black boy with a light blue shirt and a white cap flashes the girls a smile from further down the bar. as he gives them a "my name is..." sassy sees an opportunity to set the girls free and distracts the boy. "hey, where are you from there, chatty?"

he drunkenly shouts something back in terrible french.

"what?" she asks again.

"im french!" he shouts back.

she scoffs. "thats what iranians say when they dont want you to know where they are from."

white cap and his more interesting looking friends start talking to the girls as the boy looks momentarily confused by the comment. he recovers to notice the girls are making tracks and scuttles to get their attention again. sassy saddles up to the boy in the white cap, and finds out that they are friends of his. ohh, she comes to understand the situation. wingmen. she comments ruefully on the lack of game of their friend. they look over. the girls are still talking to him. "no, see, hes doing good.." white cap says. no way man, she tries to tell him. he needs to lay back a little. calm the hell down a little. like white cap himself. see? "well," white cap shrugs. "we try to tell him." hey what can you do but that?

the lull in the conversation signals her opportunity to depart company. she thanks him with a big smiling nice to meet you and goes back to her seat. chang's turn to whap her in the arm and gesture to their seductively impaired friend.

"check it out. he's taken a call"

"No!"

"oh yes." amused.

sure enough, the girls in their coats, looking around while chatty is yelling away on his cell phone. "what in the fcuk is he thinking?" she asks, amazed. "he ain't" chang answers.

minutes pass and they stare at the trio, in horrified fascination.

"he's still on the phone," sassy comments, amazed.

they start laughing. the scene is completely absurd, and poetic in its absurdity. the girls are obviously waiting on him, and he is not looking like hes getting off the phone anytime soon. they catch the eyes of one of the girls. "what are you doing?" chang asks.

she leans towards them. "well, he wanted our numbers, and we didn't want to be rude." she's cute, and obviously a little shy, here with her girlfriend, just sharing a drink. sassy starts laughing from the belly, and takes her by the arm. "be rude, honey. be rude."

chang chimes in with laughter and the girl also in on the joke starts losing it. she herself is seized by a fit of laughter, and throwing her giggles into her hands, she runs to her friend and suddenly bolts. by this time chatty is noticing the attention isn't on him anymore and corners the friend who is still half waiting and half confused. the laughing pair turn back to each other.

"un believable"

"no game."

but here the music hits and sassy is seized by a fit of dancing. chang laughs again, happy she isn't blue anymore. she bounces back over to white cap to meet the indians with him. and just as she has decided that indian number one is too effemenate and indian two is too crude, she spins back to circle back to her stool next to chang just as...

shark

a boy slides into the bar space next to her to order a drink.
same boy. that boy. steel blue eyes. roaming. restless.

perfect, comments the game announcer.

yes.
score.


**********

Domino III

**********

her back to him, his right side to the bar, torso facing her.

she did a quarter turn and faced the bar. stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes. discreetly. that jawline. HOT.

shark.

her pulse quickened a little. noticibly.

the direct reaction surprised her and she half gasped half laughed. the proximity between them small, this caught his attention and he turned to her.

in tandum, her face lifted to him.

"hello." its a charming, slow, disarming smile.

the corner of his mouth turned up a touch as he took her in. crazy wild hair. glasses. white collar under a grey blazer. golden brown flowing thin suade pants. eyes that peered at you curiously, sparkling with mischeif, over the brims of her frames. their eyes lock and he peers into hers. he leans in a little, unconciously. his mouth opens.. "hello."

and she in turn, drinks of him. distinct features. a man that gets what he wants. its almost edible.

uncurling her mouth into a slow wide grinning smile outward, she noticed it again, that immediate physical reaction to him. she blushed, turning away.

"man!" uttered under her breath.

he looks at her, his eyebrow cocked in question. she shakes her head a little, as if to clear it. "oh gosh. its nothing," she smiles out. but in, she's confused. he is not her normal type at all, he is white, he seems aggressive, maybe even a little angry. and yet, that intensity, she was picking it up, all of it.

she shook her head again. "wow. something about you is sexy to me, but i can't figure out what." the corner of his mouth raised even more now, still watching her, and obviously flattered by the comment. "really," he said.

"yeah." she shook her head a third time and leaned away from him to chat with chang, still to her left. the shark stayed to her right, behind her, turning to his friend. and when she sufficiently recovered her senses, she turned back around, and asked him his name.

he leaned in, closer to her still, and uttered it. evenly. cutting through the dark bar's din and noise.

oh my.

domino

what did he just say?
no don't spit out your drink. thats right. swallow.


"are you a scorpio?" she asks not missing a beat. slitting her eyes at him. half cynic, half stupid optimist. no. he's not. jesus.

oh, wow! your birthday is in two days! happy birthday!
he's a capricorn. well lookie here.

amazing.
she takes a healthy swig of her champagne.

see there was a conversation she had once, months ago, with a clairvoyant who told her to look out for this name... the name so unusual that the coincedence was uncanny. and the boy was a capricorn, no a scorpio, no... capricorn. you have to understand, dear reader, this very important past significance shown clear as the night unfolded. the next one she said. scorpio. capricorn. and towards the end of the call, that name. domino. repeating, an echo. look for that name. domino.

"what is it?" he asked her, noticing the reaction. oh... shrugging, she brushed it off. "its just that... its just that... hm. that's just a rather unusual name." she waved it away.

he leaned back. "im sorry." he said. "i didn't catch yours..?'

she threw back her glass with the last bits of scotch in it and caught a peice of ice pointedly with her teeth. grinning at him from behind it, she said, "thats because you didn't ask." she flashed another sweet girl smile, and blinked from behind the rims of her spectacles, then span her head back towards the bar, flashing profile.

the corner of his mouth turned up a touch more, and he regarded her with a certain reverence. a certain curiosity. a certain awe. a certain amusement. and now,

"you're not very nice are you... "

she laughed. "oh sweetie. boys don't like nice."

"no, well i wouldn't say thats true."

"oh?" her eyebrow shot up at him like a dare. "so what do they like."

he contemplated the question. "well, i tend to like cat and mouse. sorta like a game. they like, they don't like, they like again.."

she stared at him, trying to calm the again quickly racing pulse. "oh?"

he continued. "yes, but that takes wit, and," here he cocked his head at her pointedly, "wit is rare to find."

she burst out laughing. "well if i have anything, its buckets of wit!"
*kick yourself* why did you say that. keep your mouth shut.

he pulls back, looking at her again, with intrigue.
eeeasy does it

she leaned in suddenly, like a secret. "do you smoke?"
"yes, but i--"

"yes?" she was half excited and half crestfallen. how was she ever going to quit if he became the next one...

a beat. he paused. "but i don't have any."

her cue. "lets go find some." she turned, getting off the stool to walk out through the salon to the back porch, dripping in the indian summer rain.

"wait, but whats your name?" she paused mid step, her back to him. turned and caught his eye over her shoulder. body following gaze as he took a few steps up towards her. and yet another grin. she threw her hand out in front of her at him, and he took it.

"hi. my name is sassy." she shook his hand firmly.
like a smile. like a dare. like a hug.

eyes locked, mouths cocked, they shake again.