A Poet’s Crush
This is my favorite place.
They have the best musical taste.
And more than that-
Outside is a cat.
They give him a bowl of water.
This is my writing fodder.
“A Poet’s Crush.”
I act in a rush.
To get a seat by the window.
I rest my face in my palm like a pillow.
The door opens and closes.
I stare at the vase of roses.
When the food comes out,
She asks what I’m writing about.
I have a sense of chagrin.
But I decide to let her in.
“A Poet’s Crush.”
I had the idea when I brushed,
My teeth, my smile.
It had been awhile.
Since I’ve been to this cafe.
I don’t know what else to say…
The idea was hot, but the momentum cold.
“A Poet’s Crush” has to be told!
With music playing.
A wind chime swaying.
Maybe “A Poet’s Crush,”
Is about the process, not the rush.
In this quiet cafe.
On a Sunday.
“A Poet’s Crush” is not easily explained.
I sat inside until it rained.
An umbrella, she let me borrow.
I promised to bring it back tomorrow.
Along with my notebook.
That’s how a poet gets hooked.
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