Mare Vaporum by Ann Howells

Post card from an old lover

pictures arctic skies—

waving curtain, neon green.

So, will the owners capitulate

or do you miss hockey again this year?

Give it up—lift the lid

on that Lindt assortment

gobble dark chocolate.

Wipe your mouth on your sleeve.

You crossed the fortune teller’s palm,

dreaming covers

stamped with silver medals.

Broken metaphor dribbles your lips—

roses roses roses

Back in July worms like cursive letters

hung by silk threads in the mimosa—

messages from stars, perhaps,

or angels tumbling the Milky Way.

Goalie signed with a European team.

Open the book to any page—

a poem will fill it.

Your left brain blazes like a comet,

eyes blear, waitress watches the clock,

right brain cannot figure the tip.

Leave extravagance by your cup.

Napkin-scrawled lines

spiral the streetlight,

sail a bloated sallow moon.

You have misplaced your sweater;

night grows cold.

Author bio:

Ann Howells has edited Dallas Poets Community's journal,Illya’s Honey, for fourteen years. Her first chapbook, Black Crow in Flight, was published by Main Street Rag (2007). Another chapbook, the Rosebud Diaries, was published in a limited edition by Willet Press (2012). She has been nominated twice for a Pushcart and once for a Best of the Net. Her work appears in various small press journals, both print and on the net.