Dreams Of Geula. - Poem by Terry Collett
Baruch sipped the wine
Geula the waitress
had brought; he watched
her walk away, her hips
hypnotic, the sway of them,
dream inducing. Red wine,
sour, table used, not the best.
He rinsed his mouth, then he
swallowed. How she could smile,
he thought, the lips of her,
the teeth, the red tongue.
He could dream of course,
dreams are cheap, cost
nothing, are in the end,
nothing. He could watch her
for hours; see her walk the
restaurant in the evenings
serving meals and wine,
the smile always in place,
that swaying of hips, hands
busy, the eyes bright lights.
Some evenings he stayed until
late, she on her last legs,
about to go off duty, seeing
him, stopped to say goodnight.
She said she was not permitted
to date guests. Too complicated,
she supposed. Hotel rules, she
said, nonetheless. She smiled
and walked off. He could dream
she had said yes, of course where
shall we go? Wherever you wish,
he would have said. Knowing
nowhere, he would have left it to
her to choose. Where would that
have been? What cost? He watched
as the last glimpse of her disappeared
beyond doors. The last glimpse of hers
hips and swaying behind. The music
faded, the restaurant lights dimmed.
He stood up, walked away and stood outside.
The moon was full; stars like sprinkled
diamonds, lit the sky. One last look,
he thought, then off to bed, to see
dreams of Geula within my head.
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