nguyen1021

Due to a small distraction, I put down a collection of P. Neruda

Do I walk over and talk to her?
Or should I keep my gaze constant
and in the distance
like the high-hat’s monotone voice?

Should I adhere to
“Look but don’t touch,”
as she sips her gushy
fruit drink,
a transparent red
that reminds me of
cherry kool-aid?

I suppose I shouldn’t interrupt.
Her eyes seem married
to the pages on her lap,
never letting go of the lines,
even for a short affair,

So I’ll stick with my cold espresso
and good o’ Pablo,
and let the bass and marimba
speak for her silence.