Friday, January 3, 2014

The Ladies Who Lunch [at the bookstore, on Monday, when it rained]

While the drip-drop falls, and the rat-a-tat sounds
on flowered umbrellas held high over high-lit hair,
they arrive, shim-shaking off the silver drops
and discarding sandals to rub-rub feed on worn rugs
until plat-platting shoeless across wooden floors
to be greeted by the "hey there" and the "there you are"s
that sound around the corner from the ladies who lunch
- this hour every week -, and the clink-clatter of silverware
and tsking of napkins and wine glasses soon
carry across the shelves of books and blend with all
the pitty-patter of the rain, a cacophony of
glowing sounds and happy Monday morning music,
ours and Nature's symphonies, as the outdoors
lunches with them, all smiles and showers,
and noon-o-clock noises.