Bad timing

In three years time, 

you're standing 

at the crossroads 

when you see her. 

She's got a black 

leather bag hanging 

off one shoulder, 

and a pearly white 

ribbon around her neck. 

Her head moves along 

to a song you can't hear. 

She opens her eyes 

a little wider 

and then smiles 

and gives you a wave. 

There isn't much time 

for talking as you 

walk past each other 

and the green man 

begins to flash. 

You think her hair 

looks different, 

not the color or the style, 

but the way it frames her face. 

She doesn't look so girlish 

when she says 'hey' 

and offers you a grin.

And when she walks past, 

you can't help 

but turn and watch. 

You wonder who 

listens to her talk about 

the universe at night, 

or who carries her home 

when she's too drunk. 

Three years ago she told you 

that she loved you. 

Today you almost 

say it back.

 m.f. // Bad timing