Patch of Green

Written by: Alan Reed

I saw her sitting alone 
At a corner table 
Of a poorly lit inn 

Her blouse pink 
The color of 
Sweet smelling roses 

She had no clue 
Who else was in the 
Tavern and did not care 

She was reading 
From what looked like a diary 
Occasionally taking notes 

Infrequently sipping 
From a half empty glass 
Of sallow wine 

Her hair was colored 
Gold as shiny as King 
Tut’s venerated chair 

She looked like a model 
Unsuspectingly posing 
For a photo shoot 

With her cheek bones 
Placed high in her face 
Her eyes made of jade 

When I looked at her 
From the far side of the room 
A butterfly entered the locale 

And softly settled 
On the rim of my wineglass 
Levitating my heart 

On occasion she would 
Posture a smile more 
Captivating than a Mona Lisa 

I stood up slowly 
My feet growing colder 
As I approached her 

Hello, I said 
To myself as I 
Haughtily fought 

My chi and feigned 
Indifference as I soberly 
Lost course and 

Spun toward the exit 
Leaving my rose behind 
And keeping it my secret 

Nobody noticed 
As I solemnly walked past 
The prophet’s scrawls 

On the walls and 
Made a point to step 
On each crack in the sidewalk