To The Woman At The Laundromat Poem by James P. Roberts

Come, lady, sit with me
and I will read you poetry.
You're from Salisbury?
In England?I see.

A Druid from Stonehenge?You?
In your eyes I see it's true.
Land of gray, sea of blue.
Child of rosemary and of rue.

Fair skin, dark hair, all too wise.
You pluck at my scholarly disguise.
My future foretold, I realize -
all the while tumbling clothes dry.

A prosaic setting, if truth be told.
Two ancients meeting, knowledge old.
The day is warm, my heart is cold.
All that glitters "here" is not, um, gold.

The clothes are done, you whisk away,
a dark angel on a summer day.
I fold my clothes, hoist the weight
and auld lang syne hath gang a-gley.