sitting on a bench in savannah

a cigar and a bench on a steamy,
sweltering savannah summer day,
memorials and markers to
eighteenth-century heroes long gone,
two benches down,
a woman in a summer floral dress
enjoys her needlepoint,
a juice and a yogurt,
dark hair, looking very greek,
like the waitress at the olympia cafe.

if you were here with me,
you might encourage me to talk to her,
yet you would not give me away;
afar, you encourage my explorations
and you egg me on to play;
but i chose not to move,
paralyzed by a number of ridiculous fears,
also
lamenting the fact that you are not here.

fprm


August 2009