! Love's Young...

They were young lovers, and seated at the table in the window;
where in Paris they'd be watching
the passers-by watching them...
but no.
He was silent, unyielding; but uncomfortable;
she with her head buried in his shoulder,
and pale as a damsel
in some stress.
I thought at first, they've had a long night
and she tired first...
but no.
They looked at me as I took the table across from them
as if I were a threat to their lovers' bubble
of unhappiness
not quite fully demonstrated...
Their order came.
He'd ordered a huge steak platter each;
and with his male priorities,
tucked in with vigour
eating with his elbows
which made it difficult for her
to maintain her body code
so leant her head behind his shoulder blade
uncomfortably
and left her meal untouched;
he undaunted;
one sensed a sympathy held sternly
by a sense of moral support;
it was not unbecoming
to another male...
but she was getting nowhere
and his was a large and satisfying steak.

Finally, she pushed her plate away.
I must say, she played the lovers' code
just right; not overdone,
not underdone, just medium please.

Minutes later
he went off to the Gents.
And then she gave the game away.
Sat up, mind clear, looked out the window
and very, very nearly
did all those feminine things
done at such a time.

O lady, lady, in thy orisons
be all thy sins remembered.

But they left together;
as if with a common purpose.

by Michael Shepherd

Comments (11)

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Great observations, I do it myself when alone and eating. It helps pass the time, no need to evesdrop, peoples body language tells the tale. Great write. Bob
Excellent poem, Michael. You made it so real, I felt like an intruder, guilty for spying on her misery. Again, excellent. Hugs, CJ
Well, I'd say it is your poem and your form and your prose, which I really liked. If you want to take 'X' words to say it, I'll read everyone and I thought is was great. You really captured the sceen and I think it's great to experiment with form. That is how a poet grows also. Well done. Thank you.
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