The Greenville Inn
is at a corner
where the history
of a stone fireplace
still burns in Winter
We did not wait
to be seated
a table empty
by a flowered window
Three gold ceramic
pots were lined up
and a sign asking for
antiques above us
The room was dim
but I studied the
way the outside light
streamed in on you
the way your foot
rubbed up against
mine
hands struggling
to stay still...
then the waitress
handed us our menus.
Louise Marie DelSanto
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-greenville-inn/
