Street Scene
The passers-by scarcely spare us a glance -
just a young couple, leaning on each other
hand-in-hand, pausing before shop windows,
choosing - for all they know - our bottom drawers.
They do not feel the pressure from his hand,
his fingers tracing, wordless in my palm,
easily decoded messages,
romancing me - this in the pubic street!
What's there to holding hands that's indiscreet?
Nothing. But could they hear my churning heart
they'd look the other way, they would, and sigh
and wonder what became of hands they held,
of years that sped away and lovers too.
Well then, I think they should reminded be . . .
I seize his shoulders, turn him to me, cry
'How long since last you kissed me? Come on then!'
Now they'll take notice - me on tip-toes, he,
his hands tucked in my coat, drawing me close,
but whispering 'what on earth's come over you?
People are staring!' That was the idea.
I murmur, 'wait till I get you home . . .' And now
they nudge each other, 'See those two! So sweet.'
May I join in your Friday Writings? My poem was inspired by the 'muscle memory' prompt. The muscles went AWOL during the writing, but something of the memory remains.
