Was gonna write a poem about this girl
(Woman, really) down at the paddle court.
Her body—sculpted opalescent pearl;
Her mind—as yet unfathomed (shallow, taut?).
Was gonna flame another hottie glow
To palpitate the leering watchers there
Until I spoke with her, and came to know
The stress-filled life she’d lived (beyond compare!).
She left the streets, procured a G.E.D.
Stopped hanging with those grungy pimps and whores.
She earned a B.A., Masters—two degrees—
Then—college-bored—became a stevedore!
To gain her trust, I read a poem I wrote.
Her keen eyes revealed how well she knew me.
Her crimson lips responded with a quote—
Lyrics from that ancient poet Rumi!
I gulped, amazed, delighted at my shock—
At Lisa’s depth—Our Lady of the Docks.
(7/22/12)