Hallways

At first, I didn’t
see you, as I
strode
down the hallway
reading a report about a marketing strategy
or something
like that.

Then, aware of
a presence,
I stopped and
looked up.
You said, "Do you want to try N’Awlins Shrimp for lunch?"
into your phone.

We both
moved aside to let
the other
pass–that hideous ficus tree blocked half the hallway.
Then we both
started forward at
once. As
one.

You pushed the phone away
from
your lips
and said, "I’m better at salsa."
Then you flattened against
the wall like
a painting
–your periwinkle bowtie matched
the crinkles rainbowing at
the corners of your eyes–
and you bowed. And I
walked by.

Whenever I come to
that hallway now,
I fix my hair and
my blouse
and look up
from my reports and notes.
But you’re never
there.

I don’t consider myself a poet–my love of words and images nestles in my stories–but I indulged myself for Barkat’s latest poetry prompt–halls. I couldn’t resist this one.