Chumley’s

It is pleasant to see
the poet/letter-writer/whateversheis
smile
as she looks up from the paper,
smile as she glances at the others
or at some private thought
or because she feels like it.
She has a nice
smile.
I’m jealous because I didn’t invoke it.
Maybe I did. Maybe
she smiled at the sight of me.
And maybe
she just smiled.
It suffices. Today
is not a total waste.
   Thank
      you.

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