BLUE GIRL

A MAN AND THE GIRL.

Blue. Blue eyes, blue dress,
Blue ribbon in the hair. Yes,
He remembered that way.
Every time he saw blue, he

Saw her. He thought he saw her
In paintings, in theatre crowds,
On street corners, in cafes.
But it wasn’t her, just some

Other. Can’t we just be friends?
She’d said, without all that
Sexual side of things? He’d
Said, yes, of course, but each

Time she turned and swayed
Her hips, he wanted her more
And more. Maybe she loved
Another he often told himself,

Maybe she just wasn’t into that
Side of things some girls aren’t.
Blue skirts, blouses, scarves,
Maybe panties too, he never

Knew. She’d gone off with friends
To Amsterdam; promised a
Postcard; bring back a small
Gift. While she was away, he

Wrote to her house each day.
Posted the letter and prayed
She’d read them all in one big
Swallow. When he thought she’d

Arrived home, he rang. This is
Getting too heavy, she said over
The phone, we need to chill out,
Put space between us, take things

One foot at a time. Her voice
Seemed far away, chilly, not
Quite up to par; seemed cold
In fact, like some burnt out star.