Mistaken, Misbegotten

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Mistaken, misbegotten —
They gather in the parking lot.

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The streetlights flicker on and off,
The power almost gone.

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She looks at me like Circe;
I chew the plant leaves of my own accord.

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She tells me the victory at Plataea still weighs heavily on her mind;
I let her know that I have stopped thinking about it.

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The flavors are all pungent now;
Everybody here has wished for adoption —

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At one time or another,
Or evermore.

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We move inside to darkness,
Then some lights turn on, though darkly, dimly.

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I once was lost at sea, she says;
“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask.

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As a soldier, I never surrendered.
Perhaps my time has come.

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She will drink with me but I can never touch her;
I tap her glass with mine.

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Out there: the sounds of gunfire;
Here it seems quiet perhaps.

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The band begins to play.
She pulls out a knife.

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“Will you die for me?”
“Yes,” I say.

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We are not in Spain or France, but the music is basque:
Alboka, Txistu and tambourine.

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She motions me to stand and I do;
She dances beside me without touching me, and I follow her lead.

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Time is decades earlier;
I don’t want to know where I am.

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Her dark hair is much shorter than mine;
Her long nails glisten in the inconsistent light.

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I believe in infinite divisibility, the definition of atom notwithstanding —
She has me now.

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I try to find things to say;
We order another bottle of wine.

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“You know that you’re remanded to me tonight?” She says.
“I know,” I say.

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I pay our bill;
We leave into darkness and night.