PROSE POEM
Urban Lipstick
Prose Poem
While waiting on a downtown crosswalk signal, I notice red lipstick on the end of a used curbside cigarette. A hint of cherry glow strikes my mind, leaving me to wonder if her red allure would make the devilish cry and the heavenly shriek. I dare not ask what the Sunday girls might think…
A man approaches her from his bus stop bench of a bed,
he picks her up and treats her to a true love ending;
his stylish coming-up-for-air inhale,
a flare causing lips to burn,
her gradual decline
from bright…
to quiet…
gone.
His exhale offers a moment of endearment with love pressed between his fingers. Sensual gravitation soon becomes callous indifference as he flicks her into a puddle mixed with stale precipitation and loose debris. Landing in despisement, she crackles her last cry as near-dead-end heat succumbs to asphalt city wet.
Realizing another ember heart has been extinguished,
the crosswalk signal changes —
a white sterile figure illuminates, and we continue as a quiet procession.
I enter another portion of the sidewalk and watch more pedestrians toss extensions of their dreams to the roadside, only to be picked up by others looking for momentary thrills while escaping idle time.
