Patch Of Green Poem by Alan Reed

I saw her sitting alone
At a corner table
Of a poorly lit inn

Her blouse pink
The color of
Sweet smelling roses

She had no clue
Who else was in the
Tavern and did not care

She was reading
From what looked like a diary
Occasionally taking notes

Infrequently sipping
From a half empty glass
Of sallow wine

Her hair was colored
Gold as shiny as King
Tut's venerated chair

She looked like a model
Unsuspectingly posing
For a photo shoot

With her cheek bones
Placed high in her face
Her eyes made of jade

When I looked at her
From the far side of the room
A butterfly entered the locale

And softly settled
On the rim of my wineglass
Levitating my heart

On occasion she would
Posture a smile more
Captivating than a Mona Lisa

I stood up slowly
My feet growing colder
As I approached her

Hello, I said
To myself as I
Haughtily fought

My chi and feigned
Indifference as I soberly
Lost course and

Spun toward the exit
Leaving my rose behind
And keeping it my secret

Nobody noticed
As I solemnly walked past
The prophet's scrawls

On the walls and
Made a point to step
On each crack in the sidewalk