Mamihlapinatapai

Varnished bars, sticky to touch;

conversation hums and ticks,

from group to group.

A laconic mystery from one to another,

a flash: a glimpse of eye contact.

No luck,

barriers of heads and one handed pint

holders awkwardly jarring

the eye line.

Neck and palms sweat

nonsensical conversation

onto her face; but the speaker

is too close and

vibrates and throbs.

 

© National Poetry Labs

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