Five O’Clock

Someone is watching
from the trees or
laughing in the hall of wind.

Someone runs her fingers
through my hair, whispering
my name. Her honey breath

tickles my ear. Someone
elevates his game, signs
a contract with thirty-million

guaranteed. It’s an expensive
habit, this playing in the dark,
and all the manikins wearing skins.

Someone barks, someone fixes
drinks behind the bar. Desire
crosses its t’s. The scent

is everywhere. Someone cries
and someone wishes this day
would change its muddy clothes. 

Cracks in the shower, water
beaded on green tiles. We wait
for five o’clock as civilized people do.

Steve Klepetar

If you have any comments on this poem,
Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear from you.