NaPoWriMo PROMPT: (optional, as always).Poets have been writing about love and wine, wine and love, since . . . well, since the time of Anacreon, a Greek poet who was rather partial to that subject matter. Anacreon developed a particular meter for his tipsy, lovey-dovey verse, but Anacreontics in English generally do away with meter-based constraints. Anacreontics might be described as a sort of high-falutin’ drinking song. So today I challenge you to write about wine-and-love. Of course, you may have no love of wine yourself, in which case you might try an anti-Anacreontic poem.
He knocks at the door, eyes crinkling,
teeth too white, introduces himself.
She does not want a new neighbor,
is busy writing a love poem.
He produces the dark green bottle,
gift of the grape. She sees promises of losing
direction. He will find his.
She should be neighborly.
Her grandmother’s large cut crystal
wine glasses. She blows off dust.
One glass, two. He laughs at her jokes.
Already the tight band of pain
binds her head. She invites
him to go but he insists
on dashing next door
to bring another.
When he leaves,
she locks the door.
C.J. Prince ©2014