Troubadour

by Kersten Christianson

Steve Miller belts
the “pompitous of love,”
and who even knows
what the hell that means?
He once performed
this song in the arena
behind student housing
through smoke and haze,
under field light, star light.
 
Light of heart, I’ve shimmied
to it, shared mingled breath
with another in darkened bars,
shaken bootie, not stirred,
around tables laden with glasses,
anchored haphazardly to wet rings,
soggy napkins.  Glasses vesseling
fathoms, channeling ambered
uncertainties, opaque
braggadocios.
 
I’ve kindled rooms
with combustible laughter,
held captivated by ephemeral
memory of murky corners, right-
angled and sweet.  Lit by cedar
flame, stoked by driftwood,
I have burned feet to beat,
tripped the light fantastic to blur
the illuminated border of past
and present. I’ve strived
to carry love across.

Photo by Milan Csizmadia