The Bosporus Star

THE CAFÉ OWNER
by Nathalia Blanca Perozo

A salt and pepper haired man takes
twelve deep drags of a menthol cigarette.
he cranes his arm up then down
directing melodies and tuning waves.

Gliding up the plastic frames
of my glasses, I make his legs
a kaleidoscope of tiny hairs
and veins for my amusement.

He is Apache how he leans aging
in plain view, after half a carafe
of wine I ride the lines of his frown
to somewhere more comfortable.

The raid of daylight turns
him into a healer,
chaperone of the scabs
my eyes are barking.