Each timetable stands on its own merit.
There has to be a certain balance
in the air where perfume hangs.
This room has a calm demeanor
from an occasional whiff of a cigarette,
except, no one there smokes.
This passing moment
sits heavily in the throat
a hard pulse nervously keeps a rhythm
there are proper expectations
outcomes one must keep.
Some take pride in their exacting nature
the joy of following every detail
the best have always pleased.
The girl turns with an obvious question,
and yet, no one offers their reply.
She turns in a more loving manner,
as if this will ease their minds.
It’s an all together too private a moment
for someone to just blurt an answer
still, she knows what she’s done.
She must behave, she hides her thorn
no one will ever notice
it is driven deep in her palm.
It’s sometimes hard not to notice
the pleasurable pain in her face,
still, we try and play along after all
this day has started like all the rest.
There are certain events
that only she acknowledges.
She holds the cord tightly in fists,
and every now and then,
she gives a good hard yank
making sure you’re paying attention
to her well timed
and beloved words.
Dragonfly Poetry 