Listen to the poem:
Evening Becomes Eclectic

Man in purple glasses
reflects the twilight in his gaze.
Boys with skateboards lounge so fiercely
they are exposed
and naked as their tawny cheeks,
their swagger clinging closer than skinny jeans.

Drizzle makes dark dots dart through
the gray pavement.
Evening drapes his cloak over the bungalows.
It is the hour when coffee shops look their coziest.
Large cups, foam, steam and neighborhood camaraderie.

Antique stores beckon, oozing nostalgia, the sweet kind
that makes centuries palpable, through the feel of worn velvet
or wood polished by frequent use.
They conjure other people’s memories
nights on the town, long cigarette holders and crystal ashtrays,
furs and pearls, stockings and bowties.

Bougainvillea bushes shiver and drop
fuschia blooms on a bearded man in brown.
He spreads out his fingers, palms up
and views the neon brightness there.
They fall through his fingers like sand.

A statuesque black man with the presence of a bull
wraps his lips around a joint.
He throws away his pizza crusts and greasy paper plate
but hangs onto his coffee.
His blond companion’s hair is below her waist
and curling in the rain
her hand, and his, encircle the same cup.
They smile the same way.

Bicycles glisten, cars splash and honk.
Everything feels quiet.
Pizza and patchouli,
wet moss and cigarettes.

The evening becomes eclectic.