She walked in beauty

She walked in beauty;
Her swaying hips sent me into ecstasy.
So I followed her from one city block to the next.
I felt I was being hexed.
She stopped at the traffic lights and looked back.
There I was, standing behind her, face reddened, feeling like a potato sack.
Then lo and behold, she smiled at me, her teeth glistened in the sun.
Emboldened, I softly said to her, 
"Miss, has anybody ever told you that have very lovely buns?"
Flushed with embarrassment, she lowered her gaze and murmured "Yes"
I pressed on, "Really? I thought I was the only one with discerning eyes".
She then remarked that I was being sly. 
I was fishing and fumbling for a reply
When the lights turned to green.
I walked next to her as we crossed the street.
I stuttered and stammered and sputtered against the rising heat,
"May I walk behind you for another five minutes?"
She put on a sparkling smile once more,
Dug into her purse and came out with a business card.
"Give me a call later this evening.
I hope you won't be a bore!"

Roberto Wissai
July 31, 2011l

Postcriptum:

The above literary endeavor triggered two inquiries from female aficionadas and amantes. One questioned whether I wrote it from a personal experience. The other reacted in a more peevish manner. She commented that the piece failed to hold her interest and left her feeling flat. She did state that the ending was somewhat intriguing and could lead to further development. Here was what I replied to her:

"The work was pure imagination. I was proud of it because of its originality. It was a very short story in verse. I am not a butt man, but a man endowed and cursed with a rich and romantic imagination along with some verbal dexterity. It was not easy to write a short story in verse."

The poem had its genesis in the greeting card sent by an old friend who wished "May you walk in beauty". The card showed a wintry scene. The wish stayed in my mind for hours after I viewed the card. I rarely walk in beauty or amidst splendor. On the other hand, there have been some females who moved me tremendously from the way they walked. So I just let my imagination run wild for a few minutes. The result was a poem with an intriguing ending which could be segued with the following possibility:

I was stunned. I took her card, speechless. It was one of those rare moments in my life when words failed me. She gave me a wink and sashayed away. I swear that she was swaying her hips with more energy and determination as she knew I was standing like a fool on the sidewalk watching her disappearing slowly from my view. I felt breathless. I looked at the card. It said, "Elizabeth Chavez, Attorney at Law. Personal Injuries, Divorces, and Estates." The address was in the Heights. The phones listed included a cell number.

I walked back to my office. I couldn't concentrate. I was going through the motion. I made a couple of phone calls soliciting some business, but to no avail. Finally, I left the office around six and headed to the gym. I desultorily pumped some iron and then went for a long, leisurely swim during which I replayed the encounter with Elizabeth in my mind. I was wondering if she was playing with me or I was being lucky. Either way, I would soon find out. I did realize, however, that all would depend on my performance. In all my amorous activities, this might be the toughest challenge. I told myself I would just play the prospective conversation by the seat of my pants. I had nothing to lose, except my ego.

I went home, had a banana with some roasted peanuts along with a glass of beer with plenty of ice. I liked my beer diluted, the way I used to drink when I was living in my home country where the climate was hot and humid all year round and beer was just like a cold refreshing drink to satiate the thirst rather than an alcoholic beverage. I am 62 now and have been in exile for almost 40 years, but I still cling to most Viet way of doing things, especially with regard to food, sex, and money.

She answered her cell phone after the third ring. I tried to impress her with my broken Spanish, but she tersely told me in Spanish that she would prefer that we talked in English.

-Well, what are we going to talk about? How much time do I have?
-As long as you like provided that you don't bore me.
-That's a tall order since I have a propensity to bore people, except myself, but I will try. Let me begin by stating why I followed you. Believe it or not, it was the very first time I ever did what I did. I just followed my feelings, an impulse that arose from nowhere. You walked by. I looked at you. I became breathless. The only way I could regain my breath was to follow you. I had no intention of speaking to you. I was shy. I just had an aesthetic sense that your walking gait brought me joy and I wanted to prolong that joy which I believe was private and would hurt nobody.
-Fair enough. Would you please tell me about yourself, your David Copperfield wonderland, if you know what I mean.
-I don't really understand what you meant, counselor, but this conversation will end soon enough. I am 62, will be soon retired, read stories and indulge in writing for fun and release, have had women who told me they loved me but somehow I feel lonely and misunderstood and unfulfilled. You probably wonder why I have not asked you any questions. Of course, I do understand what is going on here is like an interview and I am an interviewee, not interviewer. I agreed to subject myself to this somewhat humiliating experience because I am a sucker for exotica and serendipities. Jessica, You are exotic and I feel that maybe I am into some kind of adventure which I won't forget.
- Roberto, if that's your real name, you passed the interview. Please write to me at jessicachavez@yahoo.com. I also have the feeling that we might have some unforgettable adventure together.
- Good. One question. What makes you think I will ever write or call you again?
- I know men. Roberto, do you know women?