Shades of Saturday

by Richard Vince

The only time I ever spoke to her,
She misheard me as I tripped
Ineloquently and inevitably over
My inconsequential words.

Soon afterwards, the shop closed;
For years it remained as it was then,
Awful posters, strange shelving system
And all, a monument to my
Inability to make myself understood.

When I saw her at her evening job,
She always looked as despondent
And displaced as I felt.
I wanted to take her hand and
Run out of the door with her into
The cool, vivacious night air and
Watch the stars reignite her smile.

In reality, I merely sat and waited
For friends and avoided going to
The bar; I was too willing to
Allow the Saturday night crowds
To separate us.

Now there are many years between
Me and her subtle, unassuming beauty,
But still, somehow, I remember
All that I did not do
To brighten those dark nights.


Posted on 11/12/2012
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 11/13/12 at 02:24 AM

This is beautifully fragrant of a flower's subtle scent as it dried between the pages of a beloved book, discovered unexpectedly on the eve of some unpretentious memory.

Posted by Laura Doom on 11/18/12 at 11:41 AM

I'm sure she would find pleasure in tripping over your present consequential words...

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