[11] – Observant
The rain was pouring
Outside yet again.
Their shoulders and the
Tops of their heads were drizzled on
But they had rushed into the bookstore again.
They had collapsed on the carpet
Together, laughing as they watched
People outside run from the storm.
“Tell me,
What do you do?”
The boy was curious
To how someone could be so
Content at this unstable age.
“You’re going to have
To be much more specific.”
“Do you have a job?”
“A job?”
“Like me,
I’m a journalist.
I observe people
And events
Then I write about it.”
The girl smiled, tauntingly.
“Observe? From what I remember,
You weren’t very observant
Yesterday.”
She pointed to the coffee stain
Still on the carpet of the store.
“I was observant enough
To realize you were a missing person.”
The girl’s smile faded in a flash
And her playful aura dropped
Slicing the atmosphere like
Cold steel razors.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.
Maybe you were a little
More observant than
I give you credit for.”
YOU ARE READING
Pluviophile
PoetryIt was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51
