Tom Hatch- A Poem

My Village Wine Store

A Slim Bottle of Wine

Beauty comes in all sizes 

Her fineness fingering

A bottle of Sauvignon Blanc

A smile showing a Pino Noir 

Her hair flows over 

The wine racks at the end of my day

A chuckle a laugh 

On a ladder retrieving

A Remy Martin

Tilted head looking

Lashes a hole in her

Jeans smooth flesh

Above both knees

White wine

Accommodating 

My dreaming thoughts

As I carry my bag of

Wine across

The parking lot

To my car listening

To some band

That is so vintage

The young wine never knew existed

All I can say is she

Is a slim bottle of fine wine

Or when she gets crazy 

Vodka on the rocks

Over jewels I imagine

 

 

 

Tom paid his dues in the SoHo art scene way back when. He was awarded two NEA grants for sculpture back then. And taught at various colleges and universities in the NYC metro area in art (including Princeton and U of Penn. in Philly). He feels like a regular at The Camel Saloon and BoySlut. He has published at The Mind[less] Muse, Jellyfish Whispers, Napalm and Novocain, Dead Snakes and Pyrokinection among others. He has recently had a poem nominated for The Best on The Net. He lives in CT with a few farms up and down the road works in Manhattan. His train ride to and from NYC is his solace, study and den where it all begins and ends.