The Coming Future

Miss Martha Smith
skin white and smooth
springtime in Paris
outside the Louvre,
Wednesday afternoon
I gestor to the space
is it OK if I sit there
a smile on her face,

Her first trip to Europe
with mom and mom’s lover
with her guidebook French
new things to discover,
Her mom, she says, is busy
back at their hotel
which makes Martha happy
as far as I can tell,

Born in Ohio
went to college there
now in Colorado
neat brown pageboy hair,
Pleated black skirt
hands on her knees
springtime in Paris
green leaves on the trees,

I suggest we go walking
down along the Seine
towards the Eiffel Tower
before it starts to rain,
About halfway there
stop at some café
she asks what I am doing
the rest of the day,

I have a plane to catch
late tomorrow night
red-eye to Africa
she smiles, lips are tight,
But a twinkle in her eye
as it begins to rain
asks where I’m staying
The Hotel, that’s the name,

The Hotel’s very near
(did I plan it that way?)
could go there if you’d like
she says sure, that’s okay,
In a steady drizzle
dash to the front door
tiny elevator
to the tenth floor,

On the table is a bottle
of wine, I pour two glasses
Paris out the window
washed clean as time passes,
She asks what I am thinking
I look at her and smile
the future’s never certain
but it will be here in awhile,