(05new!) Epiphany To-Go Poem by Max Reif

It's a perfect evening after work,
the air so balmy my body seems
to dissolve in the breeze,

and I'm sitting at an outdoor
table at the Buckhorn Grill
on one of those new,
faux-European streets,
waiting for our take-home salads,

chomping ice and enjoying,
really enjoying, Billy Collins' poems —
laughing out loud at some, smiling big
as realization dawns
of what he's doing in others.

I suddenly realize a few diners
are looking at me,
then at the cover of the book,

pigeonholing me in public
as a lover of poetry,
probably a crazy poet myself,

and my joy reaches a pinnacle,
some sweet
paralysis of perfection.