Musings At Sunset, On Seashore
Does he notice? I scribble,
gripping my writer’s notebook
with the steady grip that I can only
manage when on vacation.
I write about the way he stands,
face to the incoming sea breeze,
shoes to the salt water,
not stepping back or caring.
Nor should I care: I write about
the fact that I do not care.
I write about the plaid flannel shirt,
the bowtie shaped like a fish,
the shoes so soaked now they might as well
be fish too.
I am writing out of scientific interest;
I am the objective observer,
the being who puts no feelings to things,
no personal engagements.
Adding to my observations, I notice
gleaming rings, high hair, a look
of contentment, or perhaps concentration.
I am concentrating as well;
science requires it–
until that glassy screen separating the observer
from the observed is
broken
by a left turn of the high-haired head
whose eyes meet my own.
Copyright © Carolyn Dewey | Year Posted 2022
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