HIS ENGINES FIRED.

A MAN AND A GIRL WITH A DOG IN A CAFE

Henry sipping his latte,
spied a girl with a dog
across the way,
small dog
sitting on her lap.

His group sipped
and chattered;
he studied her
as she waited
for some other dame
to bring their drinks.

The dog moved
on her lap,
rising up
her short blue skirt.

He looked away,
a member
of his group
asked about
an item of news
seen in the paper
which one of them held:
some financial deal
or war unending
in some far off land,
and talked of other things
that seemed more at hand.

But instinct urged him
to glance back at the dame
with the mutt on her lap.

Her friend had brought
the two cappuccinos
and put them down,
an older dame,
mother or aunt
or mother-in-law,
and the dame sat down
and the girl put
the dog down
to the ground.

Henry glanced
at the already risen
short blue skirt,
to see if she
pulled it down,
but she didn't,
she sipped her drink
chatting away.

Fine thighs
met his eyes,
two to gaze at
and dream of
what lay beyond
the borders
of the skirt's cloth.

But the group’s talk
had reached a peak
and his involvement
was desired,
so he looked away,
his fires alight,
his engines fired.