Thursday, July 12, 2012

The Tourist





There's a pretty girl
Somewhere on East 4th
In downtown Cleveland
Waiting for me,
For 20 minutes now,
Anxious and out of place.
She's rifling through her
Peacoat pockets
To check her phone
For the time in hopes
Of rewinding the digits;
For a text that says
I'll be there in a minute.
Her nerves are running
As pins crash to her right
In the bowling alley
And people dance to her left
At the House of Blues
To Chuck Berry's
You Never Can Tell.
She feels so small
Between the buildings
That bury her thoughts;
Between the crowds and traffic
That swarm over and around her.
Between the time and I.

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