Two women at a table

				In Dewing’s time,
				                                      he could have painted 
				                                      the poetry of them,
				                                      two woman at a table.

				                                      His wife would have
                                told him to paint them
				                                       in a landscape, not lost,
				                                       but two women on a hillside.

				                                       The woman seated on the right side
                                of the table, her tan legs crossed,
				                                       her red, low cut, short dress, covered them,
				                                       barely, both women, coffee is all they have
ordered. The two of them rhyme, blue eyes, blond hair, one plaited, one falling straight, beautiful both of them,     
dressed in red, but no doubt unable to miss the discomfort their presence in the small, city restaurant on Washington street generates, two women at a table.