I meet her at the front door
of the stadium turned
into a high school
in the ungodly hour of 7 a.m.
for an assignment
I volunteered to do l
ong before the night time texts started,
even before I got to know
who she is, if I even know now,
since she needs to
take part
in a career day
and can't write about
it herself,
even though everybody
here
seems to love her,
a shinning star
in the mist of an otherwise dull world,
except for this place,
this palace on the
Hudson
and she looks so
professional
in her attire,
she might be a Wall
Street executive
rather than the
journalist
she professes to be,
her eyes, her lips,
her stature as rigid as a statue,
all that warmth from
the late night bar scene
tucked away somewhere
behind the mask of someone
I don't know and yet,
still admire,
] as drawn to this person
as to the one I've kissed.
No comments:
Post a Comment