Diffident Demeanor Poem by Albert Ahearn

Her flirtatious eyes met mine. A pretentious flutter
caused me to flinch. Her conspicuous smile
confirmed how silly I looked. Yet looking
at her, at those eyes, I didn’t give a damn.
Sitting two tables away might as well have been
a metric mile. I thought to myself: Is she
actually alone or is she waiting for someone?
I see only one glass, the one in her hand
but that doesn’t prove a thing. Think again Romeo!
Have I only imagined romantic overtures?
I probably did. I could prove otherwise
if I had the courage but being bold
is not my nature. I guess I’ll never know.
So here I sit like a stone statue.