My Afternoon Girl

Her name is Genevieve

Or maybe Adriana.

I love how she tugs at her ear

When she tilts her head just so

And smiles with trepidation

So knowingly unsure.

My afternoon girl cafe

With two sugar cubes au lait 

And discounted biscotti.

Just a girl with sensible shoes

Read Lawrence when age twenty-two

Dreams of saving the daffodils 

Or maybe the pretty whales

But a leather tote bag will do.

So what do you do? She asks

With eyes that say nothing at all.

Finance or maybe insurance

A home and a wife at the mall.

How nice and clean cut, she says

Like pepper withheld from a stew

The girls are all the same here

Polkadots in search of a hem

So why did you pick me?

The question leaves me speechless

The Rolodex seldom speaks back

Just a name on a card with numbers

Maybe a note to pick up what gift.

With nothing to say she leaves

So I may fetch a wife from the mall.

Any one wife will do, she says

Just be sure to kiss her for me

A peck on her forehead will do

Or a pinch on her butt, adieu.

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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