Her eyes were watering
Perhaps from reading Tolstoy
For long hours by the fireplace.
Pale dandelion wisps
Barely held in check
By the sensible blue hat.
I am old, but she was older.
And those watery eyes missed nothing.
Captives in one of life’s long lines,
We chatted.
I waited in this line last week.
Never enough clerks here.
Did you leave your hat, young man?
I thought this one might be yours.
No, Ma’am.
They sell the old-fashioned stamps here.
You have to lick them.
Oh? That should be novel.
You might be a dancer.
I noticed how you glide.
And I thought you might once have been
An English teacher.
I was.
PBF © 2000