It’s that odd chill you get like
when you walk blinded into a dark bar like that one
at Place Drouet d’Erlon in Reims.
Your eyes don’t adjust, and each step
has a fluorescent strip marking your decline,
and the air conditioner is blowing a howl.
And all you wanted was a whiskey after dinner.
Image: Tristan and Isolde, miniature of the XV century. French National Museum collection, Paris. I agree, this image has nothing to do with the poem, but I like it (sometimes I wear clothes that have nothing to do with weather, too). ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter