Red Cups
by Larry D. Thomas



Tonight, in the garish, invasive light
of a Starbucks, I sat, ridiculously conspicuous,
waiting for a woman who never showed up.

As I waited, blinding red, intermittent flashes
several feet away kept catching my eye
as a mirror might reflecting sunlight,

angled by someone far away,
lost in the desert, bleeding.
I’d never seen a red so red,

gleaming on the shelves like rounded,
blood-red mirrors freshly buffed
with a clean, cotton cloth till spotless.

They loomed like the complex,
all-seeing eyes of giant porcelain dragonflies,
motionless, cold, missing nothing.





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.