Page 15 - Contrast1980v23n2

On the Concrete on a Sunny Day

I whistle down the sidewalk
walking towards the Photomat
walking the bright white
concrete, and whistling a tune.

She is walking towards me
up the white concrete, her heels

click-click-click through
my whistlesong, she walks up

the center of the concrete.

I want to say something to her,

I don't know, she
walks on up into the sun
that bleaches the concrete
white, but the sun just shines

silently on.

Will she say "hello"?
Will she remark on how
white the concrete is,
or on how the sun sillouettes
me, or that she was sorry
her heels interrupted my
whistletune? I know she will
say at least one of these things

tome.

She and I step-step-step
closer, walking along the concrete's

center, and, oh, we will
soon collide, yes, yes, we will
soon collide, but she simply
arifts to one side, she is
giving up, giving in, and
I pass her, she passes me
and we glance at each other's
eyes and say nothing.

(She didn't even ask me
why I was going to
a Photomat)

T. Lee Maxwell

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