I've put them on ice,
so to speak,
since I am so in love with Her;
or at least I've tried:
they still work their
no matter where
I find myself --
the grocery store,
the drugstore,
at a meeting that I'm covering,
in a gift shop looking for
that perfect little thing
to tell Her that She means
everything to me,
walking down the street,
at the post office,
pumping gas,
loitering in front of
the Dollar Tree store,
sitting in the park
writing poems,
browsing the used books,
doing research at the library,
everywhere I go --
they work, without me even
and I glance up,
and see the smiles,
the guiles,
the wiles,
usually of the brown-eyed girls,
and I avert the killer electric blues
as quickly as I can,
since I am not theirs,
since I am Her man.

October 17, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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