by Doug Tanoury
Sadly, the bar where we first met
No longer exists. It was shuttered
When the Governor closed all the bars,
And it never opened again.
The small stage where Motown’s last
Living funk brother performed
Every Tuesday night is dark
And deeply silent.
The corner booth where she drank
Rum and coke and me draft lager’s
Is empty and the neon of primary colors
At the bar are all black.
I remember the light shimmering
On her sequin top and me knowing
And lamenting my weakness for
Sequins of any color.
The lights will always be on for me,
The music playing, and the unfading image
Of her shimmying to shake the sequins
That fully colored that night.
Doug Tanoury is a Detroit poet who has been published widely in print and on the Internet. He has written a number of chapbooks including Detroit Poems, Merida Poems, Getting Religion and Tolstoy’s Ghost. Sabiyha Prince is an anthropologist, artist, and author based in Washington, DC. Her books and essays explore urban change and African American culture, and her paintings and photo collages grapple with memory, identity, kinship and inequality.