Sleight of Hand

A young and beautiful French girl,

dark hair, pale skin, big, brown eyes.

Glamourous dress, white and black,

looking beatifically from a magazine.

The Amtrak train moves on and on

towards Baltimore, then New York.

Dim and muted blue of the sunrise;

I can look at the picture, not words.

Another picture, ivory white swimsuit

as she swims in a clear swimming pool.

Long dark hair behind her, the night

being blown back by the morning sun.

I carry my few clothes, notebooks,

paperbacks and phone in a duffel.

Wear simple pants, t-shirt, ball cap.

I am plain in appearance, bland, even.

The sun is rising, hot golden light in

a cold and uncomfortable train car.

I look at the French girl, sleight of hand,

whether God or sex, we want escape.

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