A Quandry
I could look up her skirt if I'd wanted. Her legs were uncrossed,
And the chair that she sat on was opposite the waiting room
From me. I chose not to look, wishing not to be rude, but, later,
I wondered what she had been thinking. Had she been oblivious?
Was I being tested? Why did she leave her legs uncrossed?
Poetry by Lawrence Beck

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Written on 2025-08-07 at 22:34




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