back into the crowd

you spend
an afternoon under the spell
of tom waits.

in between love.
I hope that I don't fall in love
with you.
closing time.
back into the crowd.

he sets the table, the mood.
it's like
he's been in every room.

been in your attic, your cellar,
your kitchen,
your bedroom.

sometimes you think he's there,
at the piano,
a hot cigarette burning in an ashtray,

the blue smoke a genie
out of the bottle,
a tumbler of amber whiskey
nearby.

a woman you once loved,
on the doorstep,
crying.