|
misstree
|
i slam the phone booth door as i exit,
staring at the spiraling sign.
"thank you," i mutter, handing back the card.
the lady, old, blind, almost mythical,
grabs my wrist.
"wait."
i pause, confused. a bike passes, and i recognize
the person, the bag, the purpose for the pause.
i haven't time to thank her as i run off
to pursue the path barely glimpsed,
but she knows. she smiles as she walks away.
(gets all mannified. run_lola_run.)
|
060501
|
