I was supposed to be there
simply to learn more about writing
pretty dry stuff,
but the leader was well-prepared,
knew her stuff,
and the whole session was great.
So why, ten minutes in,
am I a hungry wolf in the corner,
searching for red meat?
Why am I scanning
the twenty or so women in the room,
sizing each one up,
deciding among them
which ones would be
good enough to take over to
the Motel 6?
Which ones smile, touch their hair,
slip off their sweaters,
cross their legs, suck on their pens
or glasses, stretch casually,
arms back and up,
testing the waters?
Always hard to concentrate
when in the middle of the barnyard.
March 12, 2009.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.