The Shape of Time
 
Framed by the pub door’s outside light
So enters a most feminine shape
Her feet bent, curved to her shoes
Hair curled against her natural order, tight
With fragrant oils, anointed
Eyes painted, her method pointed
Oblique glance, a studious trance
Aware of your stare
Old fart and his fantasy
Mindful stink
The swirl of your drink
Forgotten laughter and lies
Hang in the smoky air
The huntress grows bored
You, the gatherer, lost in time
Something of value to trade or steal?
Tragedy in the making
Eyes meet eyes, cementing the deal
Against all reason, she weighs her chances
As you spit-smooth your hair
Towards you she advances.

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John Pearson authored the book, The Way of the Wind, in 2021. His poetry has been chosen to appear in the Anthology of New Mexico Poets (in press, 2023). John retired from a career in geology and now spends much time listening to barking dogs.

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