I dream of a girl.
She sits alone in a parklet,
Lets birds and squirrels gather
Rather presumptuously around her,
Smiles knowingly, her glowing face
Kind, doesn’t mind the critters
Chattering in her ear, the dear.
This girl unfurls her curls
And twirls a single slender digit
Around her locks.
She looks at nothing in particular –
Me, I hope.
Me: the dope her gaze will glaze over
Or hover for a blissful microsecond.
She is unusual –
A visual paradox of asymmetry:
Eyes of hues of amber and blue
Placed askew on a small roundish face.
Lips prim, one ear endearingly
Jutting out just a tad.
This girl is fucking rad.
She talks to strangers,
Ambles up to a rambling hobo,
Kneels down and touches his knee,
Sees his pain and winces
Sympathetically for the pathetically
Lost man, takes his hand in hers.
Her allure is one of demure grace;
She is Arab or Scandinavian by race
But the race doesn’t matter.
What matters is her disregard
For the shards of destruction
That surrounds her
And confounds most.