Just beside the cake display,
I watched her slowly starving.
While He, that she had come to see,
recoiled, pouting languid from
her clear pale craving for his eye.
While she toyed gazing at some magazine
not written in her tongue,
but glancing, glancing, glancing dumb;
as he, caressing his magnetic Blackberry
long fingered, dropped no crumb.
So I, from kindess, (older, maybe bolder
in the frame of public shame)
while my long fingered friend
(the He that I had come to see)
was doing much the same,
proffered her some petit-fours of chat,
about our names, where we had met.
She whispered blankly,
her natural grace near drowned within
that passive pool where her heart floundered.
and fiddling at her bag strap
with delicate intensity
she snapped; her voice, a tiny stone
I think I’ll go, I have a book at home
his answer rippled back
ok, oh ya, do that, ya, a book.
dismissed the pretty minnow quick
from off the hook.
I tell you, I could barely look.
Then, after her depart, in the wake,
the He that I had come to see
(as if reminded to renew his bait)
lowered his screen
and offered me some small display,
a narrow slice of
technical attention to my plate.
I stayed a while to sip upon
that bitter mocha cinnamon
but didn’t have much appetite to
nibble at the cake.