michael a griffith

Salvation Dancing by Michael A. Griffith

bar
Salvation Dancing 
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The gold silk dress comes
to just above her baby-pink knees.
It moves like mercury spilling,
spreading as fire. Tiny red
and orange marigolds shimmy
in a leopard’s spot maze with inky
green leaves. Men in denim watch
as she dances, as her head sways in neon
and the bar’s air fills with heat
as she breathes deep and laughs.
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Spaghetti straps slip
down fawn-tan shoulders
as she moves with the jukebox
pulse sweaty and sings.
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She becomes the angel half
the people at this bar need,
becomes a devil the other half
fear but still want more than money
and salvation. Rapture in such a place
in that tiny dress of slick flame
amid flowers, funk, and giggles.
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Griffith Photo (1)Michael A. Griffith began writing poetry while recovering from a disability-causing injury. Three chapbooks: Bloodline (Soma Publishing), Exposed (Hidden Constellation Press), and New Paths to Eden (Kelsay Books). Mike lives near Princeton, NJ and teaches at Raritan Valley and Mercer County Community Colleges.

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2:24 a.m. by Michael A. Griffith

crossing
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2:24 a.m.
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Train blurs going past
    2:24 on my radio’s green screen
night darkness except the cross-arms’
    red lights flashing
the sound  the strobe  the noise
    of   motion as I sit  still
warning bell clanging   still
    coming home from O’Keef’s
the noise thrumming   thunder over
    Hotel California — my head bobs in time
my head bobs in time my head bobs
.
                                    I see a face.
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    There’s a small face  bright
bright  a flash as the long train passes   still passing
    the yellow cars maroon cars graffitied cars pass
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    Eyes meet   he sees me  he sees
as the high note of the guitar solo rings
    to meet the wailing bell
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Sees the truck now behind me   headlights
    glare in my rearview   engine loud as the train
train now done and the gate arms rise
    high-beams me and revs  engine heat like
monster’s breath    See
    the driver’s arm thrust  waving  long
shouts   horn blaring
    so I go
drive into the eyes
still there
. 

Griffith Photo (1)Michael A. Griffith began writing poetry while recovering from a disability-causing injury. Three chapbooks: Bloodline (Soma Publishing), Exposed (Hidden Constellation Press), and New Paths to Eden (Kelsay Books). He lives near Princeton, NJ.

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