They were young lovers, and seated at the table in the window; <br />where in Paris they'd be watching <br />the passers-by watching them... <br />but no. <br />He was silent, unyielding; but uncomfortable; <br />she with her head buried in his shoulder, <br />and pale as a damsel <br />in some stress. <br />I thought at first, they've had a long night <br />and she tired first... <br />but no. <br />They looked at me as I took the table across from them <br />as if I were a threat to their lovers' bubble <br />of unhappiness <br />not quite fully demonstrated... <br />Their order came. <br />He'd ordered a huge steak platter each; <br />and with his male priorities, <br />tucked in with vigour <br />eating with his elbows <br />which made it difficult for her <br />to maintain her body code <br />so leant her head behind his shoulder blade <br />uncomfortably <br />and left her meal untouched; <br />he undaunted; <br />one sensed a sympathy held sternly <br />by a sense of moral support; <br />it was not unbecoming <br />to another male... <br />but she was getting nowhere <br />and his was a large and satisfying steak. <br /> <br />Finally, she pushed her plate away. <br />I must say, she played the lovers' code <br />just right; not overdone, <br />not underdone, just medium please. <br /> <br />Minutes later <br />he went off to the Gents. <br />And then she gave the game away. <br />Sat up, mind clear, looked out the window <br />and very, very nearly <br />did all those feminine things <br />done at such a time. <br /> <br />O lady, lady, in thy orisons <br />be all thy sins remembered. <br /> <br />But they left together; <br />as if with a common purpose.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-s-young/
