Musings by The Poet Loriet
Deja Vu At The Seafood Counter
Deja Vu At The Seafood Counter
You are a sketchy
figment of my imagination,
a shadowy oscillation
beneath the surface--
old memories of
us
laid to rest
at the ocean's
murky bottom.
You swim into view,
with your Neptune-suave
swagger, your strokes impeccable,
sexy in faded blue jeans,
tight in all the right places,
your chunky Fed-Ex style boots.
You're an irresistible devil fish,
approaching me
in an undulating butterfly stroke,
showcasing
deliciously carved biceps--
Oh, the nights I spent
frolicking in ectasy
in those arms!
I'm not certain
of your culinary tastes,
but passionate men eat fish
(or so they say),
so I imagine you
in the grocery store
throwing your pale catfish
on the scale,
to be weighed--
yes, the scene is set
for our chance encounter.
I direct the shoppers,
Aisle three--
places everyone
for "Old Flame" scene--
Act II, Scene I...
ACTION!
A girl with Cinna-Cocoa hair
highlighted auburn,
impatient
for him to notice her,
holds orange roughy
in delicate fingers,
which fidget restlessly...
tuck back hair, dab at blush...
too heavy?--
She hikes her purse
on tense shoulders
sucks in her tummy,
pushing her breasts out...
Does she have time
to undo one more
button on her blouse--
too much?
Oh Lord, he's turning around!
He glances back;
she exhales a deep sigh.
He catches her
mochaccino eyes
as she smiles
shyly.
I've dreamed these scenarios
oh-so many times,
wondering where you are now--
Are you in love?
What thoughts, what emotions
take place inside you,
as you hide behind a dazzling
smile, intense eyes--
Do remembrances of love
play upon your memory,
make you reminisce,
thumb through mental snapshots,
replay conversations?
Does this moment
spark a campfire
of tender memories
or am I merely the one
who got away,
leaving you empty-handed,
save for one
vacuum-sealed
cold, dead fish ~ limp
on a styrofoam platter?
Lori Beal
You are a sketchy
figment of my imagination,
a shadowy oscillation
beneath the surface--
old memories of
us
laid to rest
at the ocean's
murky bottom.
You swim into view,
with your Neptune-suave
swagger, your strokes impeccable,
sexy in faded blue jeans,
tight in all the right places,
your chunky Fed-Ex style boots.
You're an irresistible devil fish,
approaching me
in an undulating butterfly stroke,
showcasing
deliciously carved biceps--
Oh, the nights I spent
frolicking in ectasy
in those arms!
I'm not certain
of your culinary tastes,
but passionate men eat fish
(or so they say),
so I imagine you
in the grocery store
throwing your pale catfish
on the scale,
to be weighed--
yes, the scene is set
for our chance encounter.
I direct the shoppers,
Aisle three--
places everyone
for "Old Flame" scene--
Act II, Scene I...
ACTION!
A girl with Cinna-Cocoa hair
highlighted auburn,
impatient
for him to notice her,
holds orange roughy
in delicate fingers,
which fidget restlessly...
tuck back hair, dab at blush...
too heavy?--
She hikes her purse
on tense shoulders
sucks in her tummy,
pushing her breasts out...
Does she have time
to undo one more
button on her blouse--
too much?
Oh Lord, he's turning around!
He glances back;
she exhales a deep sigh.
He catches her
mochaccino eyes
as she smiles
shyly.
I've dreamed these scenarios
oh-so many times,
wondering where you are now--
Are you in love?
What thoughts, what emotions
take place inside you,
as you hide behind a dazzling
smile, intense eyes--
Do remembrances of love
play upon your memory,
make you reminisce,
thumb through mental snapshots,
replay conversations?
Does this moment
spark a campfire
of tender memories
or am I merely the one
who got away,
leaving you empty-handed,
save for one
vacuum-sealed
cold, dead fish ~ limp
on a styrofoam platter?
Lori Beal
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Deja Vu At The Seafood Counter
Deja Vu At The Seafood Counter
