poem

I went to visit a friend.
She wasn't home,
she was at work.
Another woman,
a friend of both of us was there.
We were pleased to see each other,
and smiled . . .
and talked.

The three men
sitting on the floor,
all of whom are known to me
as friends,
playing guitar,
singing some old song,
the three men on the floor
did NOT look up.

And my friend came home.
We smiled and talked
and made arrangements
for our children to meet at the beach.
Our body language led us to touch
one hand
and kiss . . . gently . .
warily.

At this
all three men on the floor,
still playing guitar,
still without greeting
stabbed me . . .
with a look . . .
and returned
to their apparent oblivion.

I said goodbye!