Sidetracked By The Girl Ahead Of Me As We Look Back On The Romans Poem by Les Wordsmore

In History, she pulled her hair
to the right and left
the nape of her neck
(where lips long to land)
open. Oh, only inches away.

Such smooth skin exposed,
so sweet the scent
of strawberry shampoo
off strawberry-blonde.
She sighs, and sits up in her second row seat.

Fvck focusing on the fall
of the Romans. Now
romance rises. She
raises her hand
and my attention, answering again an unheard question.

Now, ignoring boring
Byzantine bullshit
she swipes at straw, and
her hair hits my
hand. (Hair has no nerve endings.)

And thus, our brief history has no hope.
I watch the clock, our timeline at an end.
Her strawberry scent still near my nose,
but straw shields skin, and I know not her name.