I watched the fiery young woman,
who's hidden innocence I assumed
bloomed the color fire, reach for him.
Her sultry skin too succulent in youth
to go unnoticed.
Next to her a weathered man, her father's age
and twice her size with grasping hands
that seemed to wrap around her thighs
walked with her across the grey pad of concrete
moving in unison as lovers do.
Their gait apathetic; though hers more telling than his
she was in that moment like an ant,
working out its salvation by the moving of objects
ten times its size
from one place to another.
The young woman carried the weight of sun-drenched hands
and a life not meant for her upon her youthful breast.
Her experience measured insurmountably by
violet eye-shadow two shades too dark
bleeding beneath a universe of lost hope
sliding over smooth skin and
freckles that showed the naivety of youth
though they no longer shine so bright-
But all things being what they are
a few crumpled dollar bills and a pack of cigarettes
placed within her unwed hands
helped to bend a fought for smile
making all things seem alright.-
Does she not know his hands are much too large for hers.
She is not aware that movers move from one
place to another to show themselves approved-
I am not so strong, though I do not approve of her or him
© Raymond t. Carter 2001
