She’s pierced by his eyes.
They enter her, penetrating—
she feels like a butterflied
specimen.
The gas lamps warm her
frozen fingers. Tourists
back from winter lake cruises
warm themselves with food
and drink. As she serves them,
she knows that soon, they will
be overly warm. The bar/café
is crowded, and alcohol
will make them sweat.
City chills this country queen.
She sought excitement;
ashamed to say she is
homesick, she wants to sit
by her parent’s fire, and forget
those wolfish eyes.
She’s a barmaid milk-fed,
set against leisure.
Knuckles red and raw.
Suzon, her name
unknown to those she
serves.
Published in MacQueen’s Quinterly September 2024
Image: Un bar aux Folies-Bergère by Édouard Manet, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
