Page 29 - November 2020
P. 29

                                                                                       November 2020

                                                   In Pink Neon

                                                      Bill Cushing

              Bill Cushing lived in several states, the Virgin Islands, and
              Puerto  Rico  before  moving  to  California.  As  an
              undergraduate,  he  was  referred  to  as  the  “blue  collar”
              writer based on his previous years working at shipyards
              after  he  served  in  the  Navy.  Bill  has  been  published
              internationally in journals, sites, and anthologies.

                                        This is the first poem written by the  author

                                        Chrome and black tile at breakfast again;
                                       coffee’s so strong it pulls your eyelids back
                                     going down, and while last evening’s drunks,
                                              with five a.m. shadows, use it

                                                 to try to face the new day,
                                     women, legs on spiked heels, lift leather skirts
                                           to reveal specialties of the house—
                                             initiating a physical negotiation,
                                                    trading the tangible
                                                        for currency.

                                         In closed cuffed hand, scalene triangle
                                        of whole wheat drips from sunnyside-up.
                                             A single waitress covers ground.
                                 Butter, warmed by sun shining through slatted glass,
                                    slowly rolls down a stack of browned pancakes;
                                                 silverware clatters, china
                                                against china; napkin falls;
                                       voices chatter—while outside, in pink neon,
                                           a sign glows: "Best Food in Town."
                                                          And it is.
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