rudimentary and proximity don’t really rhyme, but they should

Part of an ongoing prose-poem purge at a writer’s group I hang.

Oak Street Beach blasé, she was content to sashay the Magnificent Mile sans make-up. No one noticed, overwhelmed they were by her nocturnal stride. A moonlit prance, pounce, and pride still reflecting at mid-day. Yet nothing pale or frail about her. Not the picture of health, but a damn documentary. Of course her gait captured me, when passing me…me drinking lunch al fresco, how rudimentary. And stop the presses, take names and addresses, she’s turned, moving into my proximity. Lovely females often find others fearful to converse. My age allows the inverse. So I ventured and we got verbal, sharing lunch, Cathleen and I… friends call her Cat.

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