Across a Table

She talks. She hopes he understands.
She probes his eyes. They're brown
And blank. She lifts her hand to flip
Her hair. He's nice enough. She's
Glad she came. She thinks they
Could be friends.

He listens, trying not to stare.
She talks a lot, but that's all right.
She has a very pretty face, a body
Any healthy man would kill to see
Beneath its clothes. He's glad he
Brought her here for dinner. Now,
It's time to go to bed. He hopes
She understands.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2011-09-29 at 13:10

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