Poems Inspired by Mystic Lipstick

I.

He starts to strum
and I do a double-take:
it's as if a young Gary Cooper
has taken a time machine
to us, here, in 2011,
stopping briefly
(in the 70s? 60s?)
to get guitar lessons from Bob Dylan.

I listen and my wrists ache
for no apparent reason.

My eyes burn with a warmth
that feels as if tears
are flowing backwards
heading home
towards tear ducts.

And all at once
the strumming is over.

And I see his worn
Adidas sneakers
exit into the blackness.

II.

there's the piano intro:
she leans into the microphone
(as if to tell it a secret)
she reminds me of
Clara Bow or Mary Pickford
when they grew up, perhaps,
after films had words

maybe they would sneak off
to sing in a cabaret
pregnant with a melody
tumbling out breathless
along with dark curls