Sleepy Eye 1970 Poem by Terry Collett

That's the Emperor Concerto,
I said.

What is?
Miriam said,
looking up at me,
her red haired head
lying on my shoulder.

That music playing
on the radio of the coach,
I said.

Thought it was Mozart,
she said.

No Beethoven,
I said,
kissing her forehead.

We'd only known
each other for 12 hours
since meeting at Dieppe,
and on our way
to Sans Sabastion.

I love it and Paris,
she said,
lifting her head
and peering out
the window
at the passing view
of Paris by night,
the lights and people.

After a few minutes
she laid her head
down on my lap.

So tied,
she said.

I stroked her cheek
with a finger,
then sat back
with my head
on the seat back
and watched
the Parisian view go by
to the Beethoven
piano piece,
sensing her head
in my lap,
her head there,
her eyes closed
going off to sleep.

I put my hand
caressing her,
touching her thigh,
looking out
at another world
with a sleepy eye.