At some age
Her eyes tailed him–
he was just so cool and she so
the opposite
that whenever their paths actually crossed,
her gaze was grounded,
till it got to to where he sat down
and she felt blindfolded
not that she was so bound
to the hind parts
of the his anatomy,
but because she so missed
his dart and swish
(the white formica of her own tabletop
a visual white noise)
that she could even seem blocked from
the thrill in
her ache–
***********
Belated poem for Margaret Bednar’s prompt re peacock on Real Toads. I am some poems behind for this April and may try playing catch-up if I get a little time.
ManicDDaily 
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