I just stalked a man

Please don’t be alarmed, it wasn’t that bad but

I think I just stalked a man.

 

I walked into fresh coffee shop, ordered my tea,

And sat with diary and pen in hand.

Ready to tap into my muse.

Only to be entranced by this blue collared man looking idle across the street.

 

I collared him with my pen.

Fixated on his every step, his lamenting body, his shifting neck,

his khaki trousers, his black shoes, his grey jacket,

his tense frown, his olive skin, his nervous skittering eyes.

 

A yawn escaped.

I noted the time.

19.19.

 

 

He stood under a “no loading sign” outside a chicken cottage.

My stomach growled so I took a sip of my tea, and quickly honed in on my immediate obsession.

I knew I was on to something.

I was sure my poetic hand would entangle him in a web of adjectives and floral verbs.

I could be one of those CSI detectives my sister so religiously loved years ago,

solving crimes one poem at a time.

 

His phone rang and he quickly answered. The air was tense and my pen gained a few pounds in agreement.

 

As his demeanour changed, relaxed,

so did I.

But my curiosity was having none of it.

Who could have such magical powers, to put two people at ease?

Albeit unknowingly.

 

A car pulled up and his face lit up.

 

As he got into the car, relaxed,

So did I.

Personified in my curiosity, clicking my belt on.

A voyeur on the backseat, ready for the adventure of discovery.

Unearthing the identity of the voice with LED eyes and a touchscreen scent.

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