You
You
Your name was
Carley
You were our
waitress.
I did not
tell you
you were beautiful.
Your short, hugging
skirt, barely
below your hips,
exposing cheeks
as you bent to
serve drinks,
said enough about that subject.
I told you
I was going to write
a poem about you.
You said you look forward
to reading it. I said
you never will,
and with nothing else,
drank my moscata
(Italy). I gave a tip
as I exited the bar
far from home.
6 thoughts on "You"
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Maybe she’ll get to read the poem after all. It’s a small world.
I don’t believe she will know it is on this site. Hopeful thinking maybe…
Very nice slice of life! Thanks.
Poetry arrives in slices of life, Allen.
The couplet form works well with this poem
Couplets, without rhyme, worked for you. Thanks, Pat.