There is a coffee
shop down
the street, where a
president and
a tree-street meet -
like they so often do.
It's called Average Joe.
It's public, less discreet.
What if we rendezvous
there at noon?
I'll be the girl with the flower
in my hair, trying not
to get stabbed.
I'll hold a fork at the ready
just in case.
YOU ARE READING
Things Unseen
PoetryThe world is a beautiful place but it has grown strangely repetitive and dull in its constant beauty. Novel in verse. Unfinished #3 Co-written by s.m. brooks and n.m. w. 2015.
