Modigliani in Steamy's Café Bathroom

Here’s a poem from a loyal Steamy’s patron. It’s an example of the magic that happens at Steamy’s.

How elongated the plunge of your neck, how flushed

your cheeks. Women sit in
envy, their backs to your almond eyes. Men confront your masklike face

with a warm outpouring of praise aimed at your twisted contours. They say Amedeo may have given away
your original for a bagel

and a latte.
Your narrow nose, your pursed lips

move many to stay for as long as it takes. Pale splash of rose and purple flesh
match the décor of lavender soap,
slightly damp floor.

I am relieved—
fears of public accidents wiped away

knowing when my poem is written, my Mocha Monkey Smoothie
downed —If I have to, I can go again — and more fluid than Picasso’s

cubes, more open than Mona Lisa’s smile,

ac-commod-ating,
you’ll be there.

Writing workshops coming soon 🙂

Steamy's Cafe