Poem: Mural

Girl on the street, leaning against the wall

I talk to her each time I pass  -

she’s painted just beyond my reach.

When seasoned on alcohol, insides nearly pickled,    I talk to her and her raised skirt.                She must be listening as she does not say a thing.

I could fall in love with a woman who does not interrupt

and – once a week or so –

I do.