Today's poem is by Kevin Pilkington
I admit I see things a bit differently.
At the corner when the Don't Walk sign
lights up, its red hand stopping everyone
from crossing the street, I think it's an old
friend, so I wave, walk over to say hello
and almost get hit by a truck. And when
there is a sudden downpour, and everyone
starts to run trying not to get soaked, I
just tilt to the left, stroll between raindrops,
and stay perfectly dry. Then I stopped
looking at myself in storefront windows,
when I began to develop a crush, I'm
embarrassed to admit, on my reflection.
At least I knew enough to end things before
they went any further. For the past three
months though, I've been dating a woman
my friends make fun of whenever they see
us together. It's true she towers over me,
but I can't hear what they have to say since
I've never learned how to listen to anyone.
Besides, they never would understand how
I love to travel and at six feet, three inches
in heels, she is worth the trip.
Copyright © 2007 Kevin Pilkington All rights reserved
from Green Mountains Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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