Christopher P. P. White
The Girl In The Bookshop - Poem by Christopher P. P. White
I met this girl in a bookshop.
She was reading Tolstoy—
I was embarrassed as I held cheap erotica
And my breath.
She looked over her thick-framed
Glasses and asked
You get your kicks that way? with a smile.
It's not for me, I reply.
It never is.
She brushed her hair behind her ear;
Curls, golden streams of clarity,
Intoxicated and assured.
Lips like silk.
Her beauty made me nervous but
I didn't shy away.
You want to go for a drink?
Sure, she says.
She isn't my wife.
Comments about The Girl In The Bookshop by Christopher P. P. White
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye