Lindsay Waited For Kersteen 1994.

Lindsay lit a cigarette;
she was meeting her new date
in a Royal Mile cafe.

They’d talked on the telephone;
the girl’s voice sounded quite young,
a sense of anxiety
sounded amongst the girl’s words.

Does she like you love the arts?
Lindsay’s brother had asked her.

They hadn’t talked about art;
she had sought out deeper things,
what it was made the girl tick,
trying to build a picture
in her mind, as the girl spoke.

It won’t last, her brother said,
if she doesn’t like your art
or doesn’t know Picasso
from Miro or thinks they’re plants.

It didn’t matter, she replied,
only what she’s like herself.

Now she sat smoking, waiting,
watching each girl who came in;
her coffee on the table.

This could be a beginning
of something new, or the end
whatever the case maybe.

She watched the door like a hawk,
studying each new movement
ready to pounce with welcome
once the girl entered the door;
perhaps a kiss maybe more.