Simply

Simply. I like how the strap of her bag

falls between her tiny breasts and

how the generous carriage of her 

shoulders is unafraid to take a swing at me

if it came to that.

I like that she can’t hold her liquor 

and so won’t want to come out with me

in the evenings to watch people in bars

and won’t ask questions when I get back.

I like how, when she does come out, I get

to walk her home, her body warm and 

almost heavy like the belly of a small sparrow 

against my arm. I like the way she 

does up her eyes, though not the way 

she paints her lips. It’s a question of balance.

I like that there aren’t any poems to describe her. Simply.

© Jamie Bradley