by Anna EvansI threw a spare dime in the fountain
at the Mexican restaurant last night.
The beat was so strong that the cactus
on the wall, dressed in neon-green light,
seemed to dip as if dancing the tango
with the bullfighter poster next door.
I asked for a house Margarita
and I wished like I'd never before
that we might have a future together
where we could rehearse our own themes.
The translucent pool of the fountain
stood its guard over pennies and dreams.
The digital readout kept counting
on down to the Cinco de Mayo
hung over a food-laden table
where a birthday boy in a sombrero,
swaying with beer and good humor
broke out in convulsions of laughter
as if to say, Don't waste your wishes—
if you ever get what you're after
the fates will find some way to twist it,
and you should know this. You're not young.
So I threw a new dime and wished harder,
a fresh curl of lime on my tongue.
More about Anna Evans here: http://home.comcast.net/~evnsanna/poems.htm