There She Is
By Bill Kirk
There she is.
Across the crowded platform
Stands a slip of a girl
In a whisp of a summer dress,
Swirling with the coming and going
Of each passing train.
Which one will be hers, he wonders?
The boy gushes a hope-filled glance in her direction.
And she, sensing an extrasensory broadcast
As if from a distant universe,
Scans the panoply of possible senders—
First, around her; then at a distance.
For one brief moment, eye contact.
His hopeful stare and slight upward nod,
Rewarded almost imperceptively
By her barely uplifting eyebrow
And the slightest curl of a smile.
In that moment she is his.
Then she is gone.