The Blue Moon Café

20 Apr

by Charlene Pratt

The air wasn’t saturated with smoke, drinks were

in colorful glassware filled with the taste of sweet,

bitter, dry and sour.

            Chairs without iron, or lightly padded, but filled

with spaciousness, comfort of a folder paper in a

number 10 with a window view.

            Lights were soft, not a darkened room,

aromas of fine cuisine, service of luxury.  Colorful walls

with washable painted menus, changeable like a

piece of clothing.  Continuous seats of comfort

surrounded an outer brick layer, with light splashes of

color.

            The line of silks, linens, cottons,

colors blending, some bouncing off each other.

            Draping bodies always out

the front door with feet in stylish

comfort,.  Couples, single, a party of

four, group of eight, reservations

            should be made for an hour and half wait,

no matter the time.

            Pings of steel drums, violins, long

Strings of a cello rise and fall of

                        the tempo, increase the inner pace of

eating, conversations with a hidden

quickness…slow, quick, slow.

            When it rained never knew when,

if it did no one was ever wet, nor believed of

            Florida heat, days, nights, Chicago cold, wind.

                        No one gets enough, at least once a

month, surrender to yogurt lunch for a

            week or so, an easiness of a habit

without pain.  Others with papers of

green a weekly scene.

            This place I love only opens during

the blue moon at The Blue Moon Café.

Biography
Charlene M. Pratt a.k.a. Summer Harp is a self-published author of two poetry books, Notes on Thoughts, Stir-fry Poetry and chick-lit Conversations with Women…thoughts you didn’t want anyone to know you had. She also loves to cook and read cookbooks as well as experiment with different recipes. She is working on writing erotica a romantica series.

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