A woman sits down
& imposes herself on me : I love your redhair
Are you writing poetry
Or a real story ? I remain Canadian polite
She is Russian & her name is Rose
She finds the coincidence :
Spring (me) & flower (her)
brings us closer
All my friends have the names of flowers One is Winter !
Her son one of 6 writes poetry
But guess what he does for a living *guess ?
Poet-nerves now jangled
Write something great really great Rose implores her eyes filling with tears
Portent or lament ? Canadian poet
reeks of nice needs more steel in veins & new haircolour
Excuse me ! Sleek man in perfect black
shoes alights from perfect black car Is that Cherry Red ?
I say nothing I promise nothing as he lifts me from my chair