In the Narrow

Slim glass drips
With condensation;
Potent antidote for
The hot and steamy
Afternoon alone,
Ice-cold gin and tonic
Drained now, with
Pools of tepid water
Left as the sole
Detectable trace
Of its brief existence.

Overhead the fans
Groan in rotation,
Yearning song of
These wasted hours.
Bartender makes
Circular swipes,
Erasing the traces
Of potions drained,
Glimmering reflections
Light stubbled chins
Of silent, still faces.

On such afternoons
Steam rises and builds,
And an overflow
Of tension and energy,
Must find release
In a sudden storm.
Winds penetrate
The narrow hall,
And heavy slashes
Seep over the sills.
A sweet release.

Pressure eases,
Faces lift and
Shift their gazes
To the world,
And to each other.
Air lightens, and
Lungs draw breath.
In the narrow,
Space once again,
Room to encounter
What lies between.