Harlem Nocturn Redux

By Larry Oakner

For El Sid

You wrote to me how

you slipped into the Paris Blues on 127th

a Naugahyde booth in the back

and a Manhattan sweating on the table

She sashayed through the door

on impossible 5” heels

her red dress inseparable from her body

and the waft of her perfume

was enough to break your heart

You were lucky

she eyed with you a smile

and graced you with her presence

Another round or two or three later

and some uncertain flirting

you knew her whole story

about the guy and the kid and the job

and the promise of Maybe

The drink caught up with you

you excused yourself to the Gents

And when you returned

the ice has melted

and only her lipstick on the glass

and this poem

remained