Poetry In The Country
Country roads took me there.
A place to live without a care.
Not that many people around.
It was near a very small town.
I would kick back & do my thing.
Making the keyboard keys ring.
Typing poems was my hobby.
I worked at not being to shoddy.
I wrote poems about many things.
Life and love and angels with wings.
Whatever would come to mind.
Put it on my web site, if I had the time.
One morning, I went into town.
Needed coffee and some ground round.
I saw a little café. It was open.
I went in to wet my throat then.
I decided I would have some breakfast.
Bacon, eggs, toast, & coffee should last.
This beautiful girl came over to me.
She smiled nice & said “What will it be?”
I couldn’t speak, I was so surprised.
It took my breath away looking into her eyes.
I stammered and said “Yes, I am ready.”
She said “The special today is spaghetti.”
“Oh, no. I would like some breakfast.”
She took my order, as you might guess.
She came back with the coffee; cream to.
She said “Are you just passing through?”
I told her I have a place close to town.
She was looking at me with a frown.
I said “What are you frowning about?”
“I don’t remember you.”, with doubt.
“I just moved in about a month ago.”
She smiled big & said “Oh?, Glad to know.”
“I was born & raised in this small town.”
“I don’t get around much.” she frowned.
“Are you married with kids?” I said.
“Hardly, No boyfriend. Still unwed.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.” I said with strife.
“How about yourself? No wife?”
“No, single. I moved here to write poems.”
“I do it as a hobby. Not for coins.”
“How do you make a living then?”
“Lucky. I have a good lottery win.”
She brought me my breakfast then.
As I ate, she watched with a grin.
“Oh, don’t let me bother you.”
“I was just surprised at what you do.”
“Why, don’t you like poems or something?”
“No, I write them myself, it’s my thing.”
“Really, I would love to read some sometime.”
“Anytime with me would be just fine.”
This started a relationship with no end.
Neither of us knew just where to begin.
But, we had no lack of poetic material.
We both wrote them. We knew it was real.
I would like to say that this is the end.
But, it keeps coming back again & again.
Where this is going, who can tell?
But, we’re both young, so what the hell!!
———————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2015)