Thread: Wine

They take turns swiging
from a bottle of cheap
red wine she bought at
the corner drug store
while he waited outside
picking for good cigarette
butts from the public
ashtray. The pavement
is still wet from a day
of 90% chance of rain
but the smell of oil
and water brings them
to a silence as they stroll
through empty parking lots.
security won't care she says
as they climb the stairs to
the roof. Her belly is warm
(I told you I was a light
weight) and he leans on her
as they circle the roof
and watch the distant storm
flicker on and off like
a dying lightbulb. He goes
to hold her hand but she
laughs and reaches for
the bottle.

This is a great little interpersonel scene laid out in a prose poem - this to me demonstrates the grey area between poetry and prose - is it in how the lines are divided that make it poetry? If laid out in paragraph form, it would be good prose, as part of some marrative - Very nice writing either way

---todd