Because all experiences are valuable.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Meeting for Coffee

Ashton lost her nerve in the instant that boy looked at her.
Coffee spills precisely at the wrong moment, every time...
Her jimmies were rustled, and no speech would come to her
with a mouth dry like a deadly spoonful of cinnamon.

He was talking politics and persuasion,
taller than tall really needed to be,
whiter, too, but he sounded black for some odd reason,
every few words or so...but what a vocabulary.
He looked like an angel; he looked like a slacker.
He looked dedicated and faithful; he looked a bit spoiled,
His smile was enchanting, his speech was disarming,
She handed over his coffee.
It was just what he ordered, 
One last look and she turned away, done and dusted,

But his was a wistful look at her back,
and hers was a wistful look at his, too...


  1. One Day He Will Try Running Across

    The froth of chaos
    awaits the man
    who falls in love
    straight across an eight lane highway.

    He must get into
    his car drive
    to the exit, circle
    round to his barista
    who will steam him
    yet another cappuccino
    amid the car exhaust.

    1. Oh, this is wonderful stuff...especially since I wrote that poem for Reid, or I should say about Reid.

      So, is yours from personal experience? Reid is just getting his drivers license. hahahha love it!

    2. No, I just made it up...poetry is fiction...of the most condensed kind..but I wrote it about a week ago...on your wavelength...or Reid's!