May 15, 2011

The table was a space between us
covered in stylish, seasoned energy.
Hunched over elbows wrapped around wine
we breathed the air of a digital clock
as milanesa came and went with the rapid
flop of airplane on runway—

Her airplane ran away.
She circled and loomed well south
of the equator burning exhaust
pulled from far away roots. The city replaced her
innocent glamor with sidewalks that belt
like conveyors toward an unconvincing wisdom—

Just as soon I stepped in tune
with that stroll the clamored-up buildings
swallowed my religion. A half-city walk
couldn’t clean her delicious stain from the space
where our hands slowly grasped that food is life
and life tastes better shared.

LOCATION: Buenos Aires, Argentina – A goodbye lunch with Stela on Avenida Cordoba.

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