By Neha Arora
As we sat next to each other
She yawned, looked away at another
Her gaze, a lofty, elusive glare
For someone who perhaps didn't care
I wondered but if only I could
Light up a cigarette, shift my half-open book
We two apart, coupled in apathy, dread
Inward bent, agile softness of her legs
Avoiding my roused intent, duly shunned
A nearby rustle, she blinked once
Noon light pierced, eclipsing our glances
I turned away, withdrawing advances
Soon a dog appeared from up ahead
She whistled to him, offering bread
He warily trot forward, his tail a bit lowered
I wondered if that would be us
And skeptically cowered
She stood up and glanced one last time my way
My breath stirred but I didn't sway
And there lay the fate of this little stint
Wounding no one, no glare, no hints.