Mind Games

With a simple, unconscious act,

she began drawing me in.

Crossing of legs, with a flash of thigh;

a skirt riding unintentionally high,

separated this woman from the others

sitting plain and still around me

like stones scattered about the waiting room.

Her image quickly took root in

the fertile soil of my imagination.

The curve of her calf.

The angle of her jawline.

Black hair tumbling to her shoulders,

framing her golden-skinned face.

Probably Polynesian, I mused,

and suddenly we were alone.

The humming fluorescent lights

replaced by South Pacific sun.

Cold tile floors became warm sand.

In the froth and foam of breaking waves

we laughed, splashing, until suddenly,

cruelly, paradise was snatched away

with the inevitable, jarring question of,

“Can I help the next person?”