Walk Signal

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ID 6384218 © Robert Byron | Dreamstime.com

 

The little avatar
of a trudging man
blazes white
above the curb opposite,
the one I stand on,
the street you’ve just crossed
eyes down
your golden hair
suddenly blown out full
by a gust of wind;
sure to be dry
no tell-tale damp
in it
when you reach your destination.

Stay, you said,
or rather didn’t say,
but I understood,
and your stride
as I followed you in the distance
widened and quickened,
betokened
a grim determinacy.
If possible
your hair blew out more full
more golden,
a beacon,
a tracer
shot into the teeming streets;
and your wonderful long legs
took on a greater definition
of the serpentine
perfect curves they formed
with clarity at this distance:
ankle, calf and thigh,
slender paradigms,
and you became an avatar of my desire.

Your pace quickened still.
You were late
and suddenly you darted left
into a clot of people
and disappeared
just below the red hand blinking
in the signal opposite.

—Philadelphia, April 2011

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2 Comments

    1. I assume you mean copy edit. No thanks.

      It’s the usual case of a bad transcription from the handiest (not the best edited) copy of an early Word file. Grabbed in haste.

      I’ll get to it. But really, thanks.

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