She camouflaged herself
at a darkened far table,
idled away time
by tapping a spoon
against her drink glass;
on the opposite side of the hall,
similarly nervous and alone,
I tapped on my glass;
if the music had stopped,
if everyone in the room
had suddenly fallen silent,
we would have heard each other;
had the dancers
frozen mid-step,
we’d have maybe left our tables,
met somewhere mid-floor;
but she tapped and I tapped
and the fun and laughter
grew even noisier than before;
that’s how close we came
to getting together;
don’t go trying to comparing it to
horseshoes and hand-grenades –
I did but failed.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Schuylkill Valley Journal, Cape Rock and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Poem and Spoon River Poetry Review.
Ha!