La Rade Happy Hour by Ryan O'Neill

A trip: briny chew of the Toulon strip.

Slurp moules marinières teacup-style.

Shop-hopping for a special cream.

Pianist with heels a shade of beets, Sinatra keys.

Drain the last of my data under a fake tree

at Havana bar, ask the waiter

with the skin of old lemons

for another round of frothy Pilsner.

Watch the cut of you, dangerous

over the table, raise a leg

off the metal chair

oil the shins, the calf, the neck,

unpin your hair, turning out

the sand and me

with a whole circus in my throat.

___________

Ryan O'Neill is a writer from Cork, Ireland. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poetry Wales, HOWL New Irish Writing, Dyddiau Du Press, Ink Sweat and Tears, Dust Poetry and These Pages Sing. He lives in Cardiff.