Borderman

Borderman

Borderman glided through the station

Beautiful, skirted, a blouse, about thirty

A ticket with her name was clearly stated

Held in a white gloved hand if not mistaken

A woman of the world from some existence missing

It is not polite to question romance at a glance

With someone sporting jet black hair

A smile, large brown eyes and glasses

She grabbed my arm in cadence with our jaunt

As if we were married partners on a walk

Perhaps a movie or a park could be imagined

Let us pray for happy days and babies in the future

To find such harmony by chance

Borderman was calmer than the wind she floated in on

She left as quickly as she came

Station life can be so frantic

I hope she made her final destination

Things will never be the same without a stranger