Pudgy Indian

I walked into the Plaid
where behind the counter
is the beautiful young blonde woman
whom I talked with
about my current marijana situation
last week.
"What bullshit?" she said.
We discussed my workplace issue.
She is intelligent
and has empathy for my situation.
She is a beautiful and powerful
young woman,
full of life and vibrant energy
intelligent, spirit, soul, important
I can tell
she is a treasure to this world.

She fumbles for the change
from the $5 bill
I handed her
for a box-o-Top.
She pulls a wad of strange looking paper
out of the cash drawer and
attempts to ball it into
some semblance of solidity
that would hopefully make it to the trash can
some six feet away.
I watch this ballet
which finales in
an attempted toss.
The paper stumbles
as it sticks to her fingers
just enough
to fall
a few feet away
onto the floor
which, amazingly,
seems to catch everything.
Floors are good for that.

"Failure," she says
and strikes a mild
dramatic pose.

I strike a mild dramatic pose
of my own.
In a moment of
real and thespian
pride, I say,
"Well, you'll always be a winner to me."
Part drama...
100% truth.

She beams
maybe at finding a fellow thespian
but I wish I wasn't too shy
to let her know
I mean it 100%.

As I leave,
I enjoy one more look
at her beautiful face
which looks like a flower
reaching for the sun.