Monday, June 13, 2011

On The Long Island Railroad . . .

Three inches of brown precede six inches of blonde
hair hanging, framing her face,
a smoke-hardened complexion camouflaged
by a factor of maximum nonchalance.
Glances, not to be obvious, turn
to stares in the window's reflection.

He pulls out Robert Frost, skipping to the end
of a book he’s never read,
smiling as if the sole heir
to the author’s intent.
Glances, not to be obvious, turn
to stares at the woman fussing at her reflection.

“You don't need to look in the mirror
You look beautiful,”  he says as he puffs his chest
And flexes Frost.

A laugh of irritation purges “Thanks” as she turns away
And glances, not to be obvious.