The Girl In A Miniskirt Poem by James McLain

Saturday afternoon
I am reading the paper
in central park.
She always arrives
half past two
some times closer to three.

To feed the birds and it
never rains.

she is pale with dark hair,
it is a milky paleness.
Jet black hair.
Maybe oriental.
I assume because of her
muscular thighs
and straight forward Bering
she has
many admirers
I should think.

Making eye contact we always do
never putting one off
for the other.
Perhaps because of my age
and her youth.

Our conversations are frank
as if we
are counselors for each other
able to discuss
it all
from each fresh new perspective.

We have come to appreciate each
other as well
no obligations or commitments.

Today she asks about the eye, I
lost years ago
I explain that is why months ago
I ask her to move over
to the end of the bench it helps me
with perspective and depth
when we speak
to each other.

Today I ask her why she always
wears a mini skirt.
I go on to say that when she moves
her legs back and forth
I can not concentrate on the paper.

Smiling she says, I would not have come
except
for the fact that the animals are here all
around you
with nothing to feed them they stay.

A squirrel runs along the bench, she
opens her legs wider
without thinking
to feed it
and I'm thinking what a wonderful
world it can be.

She is very colorful I have always thought.