Tonight's Poet Corner: Final Date
Final Date by Belinda Roddie The last place where you met up with me, the sun was setting on the rim of a neon martini glass, and we were eyeing the speakeasy across the street, where the barkeeps wore vermouth on their vests and the lamps were dimmed to mouthfuls of vermilion shame between sips of champagne. You were so beautiful in white frills and pearls, while I wore my best black suit over a cheap blue polo, and when we slipped down rickety stairs, we heard jazz, but only in our heads, not on actual strings or worn down keys. I was almost willing to take you back - almost. But that was before you opened your lips again, and before you regaled me with your personal conspiracies - conspiracies I had been privy to too many times before. Theories of death that hit too close beneath the ribcage, rattling cartilage, threatening delicate threads of a tapestry that I wasn't willing to let fray. And by the time I got back in my car, I could barely see your re