The White Ship (11) Poem by David McLansky

(11) Impatience in the Booth

We shyly banter back and forth
She wipes my lip of beer stein froth
Such an easy give and take
Now no fear of gauche mistake;
Time tripped on its sluggish feet
At first too slow and then too fleet
All to familiar at first glance
I touched her arm at every chance;
Strangers, lovers, old best friends,
Shuffled Time confounds our ends;
There is such comfort in our play,
She smiles at everything I say;
Such a gentle, clever fawn,
Auspiciously we sipped ‘till dawn.