Yes, there is something
so satisfying
about carrying a Degas print
on the surface of my purse
around New York City

Toting the tote
clutching it to my side
a prize
somewhere from across the street
it catches the eye of a stranger
who has a special affinity
for impressionist painters
ballet dancers in pastel colors

And for a moment
we meet
and for a moment
he envies the purse
so close to me

we dance a special dance
our eyes dance
to and fro
back and forth
to meet or not to meet
and then he answered the question

running across the street and down the stairs
towards a subway train
his skinny frame
swallowed up by the stairs

This one
this poem
this poem on a Friday evening
wasn't much about anything at all
but it is still worth noting