As an exercise at a poetry group I frequent, we wrote a poem about the person sitting next to us. I had an empty seat on one side, so I wrote about who/what I saw there.
ESCAPIST
Hands, a folded grace
Lying upon her lap
Where no one else sees.
A prim pursing of her lips
Betrays the slighted disappointment.
Her eyes flash
In a muted glare
As if to ask
Why I have abandoned her.
No excuses
Nor explanations
Placate her silent wrath.
Perhaps it behooves
Not to point out
She has hidden
From me.
ESCAPIST
Hands, a folded grace
Lying upon her lap
Where no one else sees.
A prim pursing of her lips
Betrays the slighted disappointment.
Her eyes flash
In a muted glare
As if to ask
Why I have abandoned her.
No excuses
Nor explanations
Placate her silent wrath.
Perhaps it behooves
Not to point out
She has hidden
From me.