“Young”
The young woman and me
We sat on opposite sides
Of one of a half dozen
Crowded picnic tables
Scattered about the
Thousand Oaks “Bark Park”
She
Sitting to the far right
Of the bench
The young woman of
Oh
Possibly twenty-three
I don’t think aware
That I had sat
On the opposite side
The young woman
Sat looking downward
And me
An old man of
Seventy-nine
Looking forward
Sat to the far left
Of my bench
Fiddling with her phone
Possibly playing a game
Or sending a text
Every now and then
Looking up
A slight whistle would
Emit from the young woman’s lips
To remind the energetic little white
Mixed breed dog that she
Was still here
That she was still watching
As Mushi
I think not so enraptured
With the tumult
And multitude of mixed scents
From the hundreds
Or possibly thousands
Or possibly millions of urination's
That had soaked
The ground of the Thousand Oaks Bark Park
Mushi sat contemplating the throng of dogs
Doing doggy things…
Like running
Mushi sat within the shade within easy reach.
A lovely day
With the mid-afternoon
Southern California
Spring sun treating us
To a near eighty degree day
Along with a slight
Balmy breeze
The slight
Balmy breeze
Bringing to me the scent of the young woman
The scent of the young woman
Being
I didn’t know
Spice or floral
I didn’t know
I couldn’t place the scent
Except the wonderful scent
Of this young
Oh
Possibly twenty-three year old
Woman brought me back sixty-three years…
Brought back
Sixty-three years
To the wonderfully warm
Spice or floral
Scent of youth
The scent
Of a girl from my youth
Of a girl
That I knew not whom
And I sat with my eyes closed
Savoring
Savoring the gentle balmy breeze that
Brought the scent of this young woman to me
Bringing to me the scent
Of long forgotten love
Bringing to me the scent of…?
The scent of the young woman
Bringing to me the scent of
“Young”
Ron
such savory and memorable moments. In each verse the reader's imagination was sparkled by your imagination of a young woman who you
could smell the fresh floral scent coming from. Good write.
A pleasant aroma can bring a memory in an instant...
And it is such a gift...for momentarily we are back there...experiencing something almost forgotten...the passing of years in theses instances is insignificant...we are there once again...
Diana...
just being alive...but the morning breeze of youth
in your poem, Mark...set the rest of my senses
in motion...suspending...that enchanting scent...sign
and sound...to last...be repeated time and again...
hug
Kathy
Your Slowly Warming Up Canadian Pal,
Anna
budd
A very lovely poem with wonderful feelings well-expressed!
Sandie :o)