One Glance

520 one glance

One glance from a strangers eyes suddenly locked
and lingered
eyes across a crowded cafe….
without warning you’re propelled into a scene
torn from the pages of an old and trashy novel
the kind of cheap paperback you tore the top layer of plastic off
with a satisfying ripping noise
a normal day with an abnormal ending
living a morning in fast forward
feeling the temperature rise
a haze, a heat shimmer hovering above the cappuccino stained tablecloth
melting away common sense
swatches of the day continue to flick past
breadcrumb trail of a song scattered from a passing car
“she comes in incense and patchouli…”
then the late afternoon sun is setting
and the view from the shoddy 4 hour nap hotel is blinding orange
rough sheets and wrong arms
the die is cast, the beach stormed
and nothing will make sense after this
but sense ceased to matter
dissolved with one glance from a strangers eyes.




You know sometime you’re bound to leave her
But for now you’re going to stay…”

* “Year of the Cat” by Al Stewart*



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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