New York Night

            after Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks

On a desolate black and white street, one halogen spotlights this place.  It’s cool in here.  Too warm in my apartment and I’m here to nurse a vanilla milkshake.  A guy in a suit leans into the counter (afraid of going home to his wife); another looks over at the soda fountain clerk who craves attention; and me, I stare at my nails—looks like I just broke another.  I ditched my date—a Wall Street type needing too much doll.  And when I leave, daylight rises, awakens the tilting skyscrapers. 

I could have been a real actress—a great femme fatale.  John Huston could have discovered me and put me far right of vertical in a rain slicked street to frame my face: Irish red hair that hangs below my shoulders, Channel Ruby Slipper lipstick that smiles against my oval shape, almost translucent skin.  It could have been me who colors this city.  It could have been my portrayal of the deceptive dame that seduces my laconic private eye, which gets me out of this circling cigarette city—two-bit parts at two-bit places, drinking old milkshakes.

"Roberto Capuccio Gown"

My paper doll wear a dreamy strapless gown designed by Roberto Capucci.  She is in New York driving down Times Square where her name will be in lights some day.