Stare And Stare Poem by Sean Kearney

Was it a Sunday, with lunch over
And the women chatting
And the men next door oblivious?
One of them at least, oblivious, his feelings dead,
As friends had long suspected? What was she thinking
when the picture was taken, what thoughts in her head?

I don't know if she'd been crying,
Or if she'd been smoking,
But her eyes are red.
Hendrix purple stoner taffeta, and rich brown hair,
But her eyes are red.

Books and pots, and defiant glare,
Unknowable, a mystery, and her frown,
And the soft cupid's bow pout,
And her hair, her hair,
I can't help it, I stare and stare.