If I Only Had A Limp

As I walk down Broad Street, on this unusually sunny day,

in my peripheral vision, I see a middle-aged woman with a mid-level limp

She uses no cane, but she’s visibly limping

I have a speech-impediment, so I pause, while standing on the sidewalk

And look in her direction

She’s not exactly pretty, but she’s okay –

and I know I’m not exactly handsome

I want to talk to her -

I’ve spent many a day and many an evening alone

She looks in my direction – and she’s slightly better looking than my original observation

I speak with my normal lisp – “Good Afternoon, kind mam, it certainly is lovely weather we are having today”

She stands still, kind of lopsided

And I ask if she’d like to join me for a glass of champagne (?)

Two glasses, so she can have one of her own –

And she agrees

As we progress down the level-grounded sidewalk together, I introduce myself

“You have a limp” I tell her, and she nods her head

“You sound like Sylvester, the Cat”, she tells me

While on the walk to the pub, I purposely kick a fire hydrant

My foot is in pain, perhaps bleeding beneath the cotton sock I’m wearing

“Are you okay” (?), she asks, with mid-level concern

“I thought I might acquire a limp”, I tell her

And she nods her head

“That would be lovely”, she observes – “perhaps you would stutter less frequently” – and I shake my head in agreement

Throughout my years, I’ve read many definitions of love –

And I suspect, I might be in love with this woman with the limp

It’s quite pronounced, but she doesn’t need the assistance of a cane

And I think this fact is fantastic

We sit side-by-side on barstools at the pub

And I purposely throw my right leg into the metal footstool below

“Do you have a limp yet” (?), she asks

And I reply, “I don’t think so”.

“Perhaps next time”, she observes

While sipping on her diet Coke

Photo: Jimmy Broccoli on the front steps of the (physical) Vegetable Tray.