The party was boring – all the usual small talk,
“Wasn’t Sally’s dress in poor taste.”
“And did you notice Naomi’s dress is a copy of Jean’s
original Paris creation?” – on and on it went
and then he walked in…
cocktail glasses paused in mid-air –
some never reaching the intended lips:
cheeks that had been cracking from forced laughter
relaxed in genuine smiles of admiration.
By the time he reached the midway point,
feminine ahs could be heard all over the room.
The chatter ceased as the steel-gray eyes continued
looking straight forward, the easy stride unfaltering –
seeminly oblivious to the sensation he was creating.
Not a trace of a smile about the handsome face
in recognition that he had an audience,
until unwittingly, he stepped on some feminine toes
too far in the aisle,
and immediately gentleness, solicitation and compassion
animated his face, as he stooped to give aid
to the lady so injured.
Everybody began talking at once, and the lady whose foot
was stepped on, felt like a queen!
By Sandy Macebuh