Poem: Rapt

The unforgettable woman at the table across the room.


She smoked, that is to say,
a cigarette
And yet, she was smoky still,
black hair swept aside

A look that advertised
with accuracy
No admittance,
trespassers will be violated

Writing, other tables crowded,
no one sat at hers
The smoking lamp was lit
only for the officers

Collecting myself, I settled
back to watch
She may be there still,
rapt in not being wrapped
Poetry Collection: Corner of My Mind
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection

available here in print
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