(7) Wandering

She walked in with sapphire eyes
Salon styled fashion
And a toddler on her arm.
She was all of twenty young
Walking with the strut
Of a mom yet to be,
But she was already one,
Bleached blonde and
Magazine ready.
She ordered coffee and borrowed
The crayon mug for her young daughter,
Walking with the confidence that assuredly got her into trouble.
Her jacket was gone
She was sleeveless in a fabric sense
But not in the ways of ink
As a tattoo ran all the way up her arm,
No words, nor color,
Just simple designs
Accentuating her look in a bad girl way.
I turned to see my son
Give her a nod,
I guessed of his approval,
But I would soon learn that he got caught
And had to do something
To cover for his interest in her presentation.
“That was awkward eye contact,” he said.
All I could do was laugh
At my son’s Icarus snafu
And his feeble attempt to bat his eye at her
As they melted and fell into his Green Matcha tea.
He’ll learn, but he won’t know
He’ll try, but he won’t succeed
He’ll get better, but never be good enough
To look away
To deny instinct
To manage a man’s eyes.
He better, though,
Because some day he will have a shorty on his arm
And she’ll have a baby in her other
And he’ll have a foot up his butt
If he makes awkward eye contact then.

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