Stalker
The Stalker
Liverpool 1974 and it wasn’t raining, sat in a café, at the pedestrian precinct,
the coffee was awful, tasted like milky tea, when I saw her. She was daintily
munching a cheese sandwich with, and drank a cup of tea.Her skin was silky
she had green eyes, red hair and I just knew she was Irish. She looked up and
smiled. I panicked, and pretended to read “Liverpool Echo.” She waited for
me to make a move, paralyzed with shyness I could not. Finally she got up,
I followed; by the Victoria monument she took bus eight to Garston. Now it
was overcast and soft rain fell; she waved as the bus passed me. I thought
of following the bus in a cab to see where she got off, but it was no good
I had hesitated too long, whatever I did next she would think I was a stalker.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Added by Poetry Lover
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