What I didn't do

I saw a beautiful woman,
sitting at a table in the bar.
I thought I should go and
talk to her.

Her smile was bright, her

eyes were sharp, she had a
crisp, gentle laugh.
She carried herself well.

I imagined us together,

walking along a beach,
strolling along the city
streets window shopping.

I imagined carrying our

mutual possessions into
a shared living space, or
dancing in an unpacked living room.

I was building the courage

to speak to her and was about to
step in her direction just as
she backed her wheelchair from the table.

“Crap, I live in a three story walk-up,

without an elevator,” I thought.

I didn’t go and speak to her. She and

her group left the place and I don’t think
I’ll see her there again.