by Beau Boudreaux
writing her a poem
though we just met
on the balcony, knives
of her shoulders,
in deep green dress
my blind date for this June wedding
a cocktail set me straight
like streetcar rails, my shoes laced …
she slept at the Hampton
sealed in my jacket pocket …
what I said—nothing, she was not my type
walleyed, big teeth
what I caught for being dead bait.
Beau Boudreaux teaches English in Continuing Studies at Tulane University in New Orleans. His first book of poetry, “Running Red, Running Redder” will be published this spring.