Red Dago Wine

Red Dago wine
inside an Italian restaurant
called Mategrano’s
decorated like a
red red brothel
in the late 80’s
and everything
was as sweet
as the red dago wine
in a clear gallon bottle
without a label
smiling at me
for another taste
welcoming my youth that
planned to finally escape
but I couldn’t see it
until 15 years later
on the last day of
my 39th year
drinking red Dago wine
typing away on my Apple
remembering those days
as a waiter waiting
for something to happen
without realizing it
had already occurred
just as it is occurring
right now…

poem by Charles Lara
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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