I am a rock.

I am a rock.
A remnant, the street layers left aback.  
in the middle of this footpath
I sit
and linger
for her

Tuesdays & Thursdays like a prayer.
She comes
Tuesday & Thursday
the days she works the day shift,
at the big factory
where secrets gets seamed
off at six thirty.  
She sometimes arrives early,
 and we wait for the scrawny bloke.
 He whistles a tune,

From the film at the theater around the corner
Then they gaze in to each other's eyes

oh so briefly .
she breaks in to one of them girly giggle .
It is a private joke you see
only between three of us.

When he mutters  few words from
the two pages he has memorized of the yellowed pages of the cheesy novel  
He let pass a couple of integral words
And makes a muddle of it
She starts drawing  on  the gravel with her big toe.
A flower
Ringed centre, five petals. Unsophisticated

He asks his usual question "shall we? " ,
response is usual
a stretched hush.
 Her eyes well up, for reason afar .  
 I dismay the young bloke's plight
when she finally says "OK".
Mulled   beyond this point, he has not
I 'll bet my pebbles

They share sour slices
sprinkled with the  zesty chilly powder.
Wal amba
Mangos are for pleasure .

 He holds her hand  in his open  left hand
and sketches flowers on her palm .
With his finger
Simple designs .
Ringed centre, five petals. unsophisticated .

She is deep in her muse.
gazing in to the ripples of Nuwara wewa .
wind coerce a few unruly locks
in to an improvised tango .  
her earring glistens in the fading light. .
Ringed centre, five petals. unsophisticated .
She let her heavy sigh drop
In buoyant dusk purple

Hmmm, I am a rock
Yes really, I am