At Any Coffeehouse Reading, Not Necessarily Hemmingway’s

At the poetry reading, I sit down across from a sweet young thing

everyone enjoys sitting beside someone so easy on the eyes …

She smiles. We’ve seen each other

at this kind of happening before

and afterwards, she laughs and asks

my name, didn’t she see me on the Southside at another reading?

I ask her if she writes.  A little, she admits

so we begin to discuss what she calls seeking a path in life…

Her face lights up describing her search

mine does too as I listen …

Then, suddenly, the 3rd chair at our table is captured

by a cowboy, oh, I recognize the type

even without chaps & hat. He laughingly explains,

“I was kicked out of my seat over there,” and we acknowledge.

One of the poet-readers greets me

and when I tune back in, the cowboy is telling sweet thing

that she should e-mail him. He has a long list of poetry sites

that he’ll share with her …            I’ll bet he does! I think.

The other poet-reader passes and I flag her down

to offer congratulations, graciously accepted,

this time, when I return to the conversation

sweet young has his business card

in hand, “Shall I call you W. or Timothy?”

she asks because he lists himself initial first on paper.

He grins and drawls, “Anything. Call me anything

but just call.”  She asks him if he writes

and this reply is slower yet,  delivered with a smile,

“I listen.”