Arlene Ang

Tonight there is insufficient moon.
The street lamps pose like hookers
calcified by beams of accusing cars.

Goodnight from your lips sounds
like tongue rubbing against teeth
to remove residues of dinner.

I just nod and turn away,
search for keys I know
are tucked safely in my hip pocket.

Your promise to call makes me feel
like Mom. Unlike her, I delude myself
that you're not really intent on divorce.

Arlene Ang lives in Venice, Italy where she edits the Italian edition of Niederngasse. Her poetry has recently appeared online in The Melic Review, Tattoo Highway, Tryst and Absinthe Literary Review. She has received a nomination from VLQ for the 2003 Pushcart Prize.