Flamenco at the Thirsty Bear. Jim Gunshinan

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POEMS
 • The Artificial Heart
 • Heroes
 • Geography Lessons
 • Blue Cornflowers
 • Living by Water
 • Upon This Rock
 • The Man Dad Brought
    Home from the War
 • Physics
 • Black and White
 • Not the Mom We Were
    Used To
 • Nothing Sacred
 • Spring
 • Transformation
 • Please Straighten That Up
 • Up from Depression
 • What the Body Wants
 • Compassion
 • Commute
 • Kiss Me
 • Starter Castles
 • Flamenco at the Thirsty
    Bear

 • A Nature Poem
 • Portrait of a Woman from
   the Gardens of Egypt in the
   First Century

 

 

Flamenco at the Thirsty Bear*

We ate tapas, drank amber ale
and sat so close to the stage
I could lean over and put my beer on it.

But I didn’t. An old man played the guitar
a younger man, tall and lean, black-haired
sang in a high-pitched, wild language

that was spoken in ancient times, before Spanish
before the Romans. A woman danced, in a curvy
tight black dress meant for caressing. Her arms moved

like flames up and down an invisible ladder, one hand rising
the other falling, fingers snapping. She banged her black heels
pounding her passion into the wood of the stage.

She looked down to one side
and then the other, her look serious, focused within
like a woman bearing down in childbirth

or in that last, suspended breathless second
before orgasm. I could have caught fire.
But I didn’t. I woke up at our table, with my wife and friends.

A few scraps were left on the table
some rice, a shrimp, empty bottles.
For a moment, we were all glowing, and in love.

 

*The Thirsty Bear Brewing Company


  © Jim Gunshinan, 2013
 

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