
Dawn Dupler
David in Pinstripes
The stagnant and numb exist in the linear.
Diet Pepsi and bottled water sustain such dry souls.
They miss the dulcet dew, that smooth grenadine drizzling
Red into swollen mouths and distended yearnings.
The shrieking music from my lover and I evanesce
From our candent bed. After the petite mort I kiss his fingers.
Beneath a Paris street, a silver David in pinstripes
Stood on the Saint-Germain-des-Prés platform
Cradling a young woman as he spoke,
The scar tracking his jaw begging exploration.
From where I stood, I could see a pomegranate
In his tote. The Mediterranean fruit was for him and his marked face.
His partner eyed me through her Evian bottle,
I knew David in pinstripes would devour the syrup from heaven.
Dawn Dupler has come full circle. Early she wrote and edited until evil compelled her to
earn an Engineering degree. Eventually she drop-kicked her brief case over cubicles and the
plebes tethered to them. Her works have appeared in GlassFire’s print anthology, The Flask
Review, Loch Raven Review, The Long Story Short and others. She is wrapping up her first
novel and can be reached at ddupler@charter.net. She is currently working on her MFA in
Writing..
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