B.Z. Niditch

Two Poems

The Visitor

A fresh breath
of half-light
by a dazzling stream
of frozen patrons
coming out
quickly and boisterous
from the cinema
of a spaghetti western
on Friday night
with glasses removed
turning up collars
in the moon’s shiver
amid a sea of stars
in an answering rapture
of questions
in the blue air,
two critics
with identical scarves
speaking Italian
amid the urban chatter
cover their heads
with soccer caps
as snow sweeps
along the pavement,
and a film student
of Pasolini
in silence shivers
yet intently
despite hunger pains
coveting knowledge
not eager
for tomorrow’s exam
wishes for a warm bath.



Checkmate

You play
only with
your left
a pawn
by stray ght
eyeing each move
as stolen kisses.


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