This young brunette was sitting a couple of tables
away from me at a local restaurant in my
hometown.
She got lucky they gave her a table near the window.
Must have smiled bigger than I did or
maybe the waitress thought my
tie dye
shirt would keep customers outside
(one of the many reasons I miss Brooklyn,
nobody gives a fuck what you look like. Or maybe
they just try so hard to look like they’re not trying
that they forget to judge.)
and you could see the yellow line coming and going
from that window
Rusting under the rain,
(mother nature likes to screw us on Saturday’s.)
Everything was nice and quiet
except the tasteless music and the
muted faces on TV going on and on
about this asshole of a President
(not mine.)
but she just sat there motionless.
The waitress came and went and the girl didn’t
shift in her seat once.
I swear she didn’t even touch the menu
and I bet the bitch server regret not giving me that table.
Suddenly the 70’s disco cranking in the speakers
was downed with the N train rolling in to say hello.
And she moved. I mean it,
just like that the train seemed to breathe
life into her.
If you were there you’d keep on
staring too,
going back and forth between the girl
and the train,
girl and iron,
she and it,
when it left, moving backwards where it came from
she blinked.
The waitress asked if she was ready to order
“Oh. Sorry. I am waiting for someone.”
But the look in her eyes said
He (or she) wasn’t coming.
© Magnified Reflections 2013
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