NoirAt the Ambassador

Glasses upside down, one lamp burning — she stayed for the quiet, and the quiet stayed for her.

Slip and pearls, legs over the pit — the ghost light burns for the theater, but tonight it keeps her company.

Brass tokens and one desk lamp — forty-four are out, three are missing, and one of those is hers.

Cigarette unlit, exit sign red — she is deciding whether the night owes her an apology or a fare.

Velvet ropes down, chandeliers dark — one bar of pink dawn on the marble, and the tray still sells nothing to no one.

One cord plugged, rows of dark jacks — whoever is calling at three a.m. is calling collect on an apology.

One letter of the marquee still lit, steam on the grate — the last bulb always spells someone's name.