Fuck (,) Just Looking

Don’t know anything about her

besides the high pitch of her voice 

as she takes orders, how she dresses 

sans bra, that she has now reached 

middle-age, her gait as she waits 

on tables and fetches my fruit toast.

And I know I find her V attractive,

as in my body finds her ripe body

so kissable-edible. Not convent-

ionally pretty but it’s pretty sure 

she wasn’t convent educated.

Too hippie, I’m happy to say. 

There’s fruit toast then there’s 

forbidden fruit, which I toast 

with perfect espresso she delivers. 

And nothing more will happen 

unless one of us makes it happen 

which won’t happen or it would 

have already fucking happened. 

I reckon about a 2% chance 

because this lustful whatever-it-is 

has been going on for  years. 

It’s obviously no tryst in plain 

sight in a noisy cafe. I doubt 

that she’s aware of my passion

as she collects dirty dishes.

So there it is and it is likely 

to continue. I imagine being 

her lover occasionally, then 

go home to the lover who 

is mine – as I am hers – 

for all occasions to date.

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Biography

Allan Lake is a migrant poet from Allover, Canada who now lives in Allover, Australia. Coincidence. He has published poems in 20 countries. His latest chapbook of poems, entitled ‘My Photos of Sicily’, was published by Ginninderra Press. It contains no photos, only poems.