Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

A few days it’s been 
since I rode the Orange tube 
out from Enoch, nothing new. 
Amusing myself with literature,
the glue that contends 
our oneness.

As I dissolved and fancied myself 
unique from all the goers to and fro, 
mouthing Hamlet in perfect tune 
to shaky stops, I didn’t notice 
her nestled across the seated cue,
between what must’ve been 
her parents.

It was probably the usual.
Maybe at the start
she was studying my shoes,
but began to observe with eyes new
as only children can,

how a woman can be 
both present and not,
smiling with ease 
over a simple recitation. 
But with a strange look of pleasure 
more common to drunks, 
or the newly in love 
if it happens on the tube. 

Maybe she was taking stock 
of options. All the ways she could be,
what feminine gestures seem 
most beautifully procured.

And when it came to her stop,
between the two she was ushered 
to depart, though not before I looked 
up to see her watching as she walked.
For a flicker of a moment, 
she smiled and waved so quick,
as if to hold the action 
easily downplayed. 

But too I waved, and so brightly
she smiled at the reciprocation, 
that I remembered how the warmth 
of something given without reason, 
needs no reason at all.

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