Elsa

The traffic is thick and early this morning the heat,
While long shadows still cross the road ‘neath the feet.
On my right is a form that comes into my sight,
Spectacles black, arms crossed, blue jeans and shirt white.
From high heel to heel she shifts her silhouette young,
Fingering a bag from her shoulder low-slung…
Her lines are harmonious, all slender with grace.
Cars brush her by as they slow down their pace.
Time passes slowly when the traffic scarce moves,
But when I draw up to my side she slips –
She has great round eyes and sensual lips.
“I call myself Elsa and I’m a walking doll,
On the roads around Byblos I stroll along.
Now I am free this Holy Week day.”
Time passes slowly and the clocks still show seven.

Joseph Matar