Neon: A poem

Grace Shaw

The neon sign

Radiates blue-rock-candy,

Painting the snow an alien hue,

Colder than Neptune,

While I wait.


Clinks and swishes resonate

From the back room.

The fading luster of late-night bulbs

And waning radio ballad

Leave only fragrant ghosts of coffee and chai.


An elderly woman

With frosted hair and ashen skin

And arctic, azure eyes

Wraps a woolen scarf around her neck,

Slowly, thrice, and leaves.


Feet dangling and neck craning

I made introductions between my nose

And the window pane,

Scanning for your shape through

Cake-batter snowflakes.


Clumps of sticky dough

Sift thickly earthwards.

If I ate them all,

Maybe you’d be there.