Copyright © 1998 By Rita
Poetry in Motion
There he stood outside the office building
in a gray pin-striped suit.
I had seen him before, walking down the lobby,
standing outside the elevator.
His sexy swagger not overdone but subtle, in strides.
He stood leaning against the pillar
that gray afternoon, standing there
sharply dressed, pushing his hair back with his fingers.
He stood there smoking, inhaling each drag slowly,
deliberately,
the most graceful movements.
I, standing there, watched him as he shifted his weight
from one leg to the next.
He never noticed me standing there,
instead, concentrating on his smoke,
never glancing to back to see me.
But I saw him, anticipating his next movement watching him
intently putting out his camel, pushing back his hair with his fingers.
For a second, I caught his eye as he walked by me.
I watched him enter the building,
swaggering down the lobby, standing by the elevator.
It was poetry in motion.
Copyright © 1998 By Rita
