She was a plump, short girl with pretty face
I didn’t mind to give her my wandered heart
Without interest but with a balance of seeing
Her any more again.
Time was being unpredictable as I saw her back in New Orleans
Trashing cans and smoking cigarette at a dock of a fancy restaurant
And she told me she had a baby and the father was unknown.
If there was a grill she did not show unless and until I noticed
How beautiful she was.
I heard the girl said who is that mom and she replied nobody.
She smiled, kicked the cigarette away and turned her back
At me and I felt at that moment so ruin and so damned dirty
Without knowing why.
Copyright © George Zamalea