Barf Bag Poem #13, ATL-RSW
You can’t take your eyes off of the tapping
toes jiggling the rainbow-strapped flip-flops on the
well-tanned reader sporting the Beatles T-shirt.
Semi-silver toenails shimmy left-to-right,
in and out of her broken-in flops. This must
send pulses up her legs, past torn jeans
into deep secrets her young eyes can’t hide.
She flips pages backward, looks up to
counter-stare with poise. You don’t
waiver, hoping she will imagine potentialities
rather than the slobbering middle-aged stubble-
cut observer across from her. She moves a
raincoat away form her lap, presenting a
camel-toed crotch, Carmex lips, curly-haired head.
She’s some type of jock, reading “Chicken Soup
for the Nurses Soul,” index finger extended up the
side of her face, a regular Rodin, but he never had
a model this hot. Her biceps are tight, her pug nose
implies Latin roots, her deep eyes come from so
far back you shiver imagining what even two hours
together might bring. “Is that a good book?”
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2005. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.