she was sitting at a picnic table
she wore overalls
and she struck me as exceptional.
she pulled me in like a wind tunnel
spoke like a matter of fact battering ram
and her smile sang songs of wow.

see, i don’t talk about girls too much like this
but first impressions don’t often leave me
far from speechless
and this may be romanticized
but isn’t that
how romance starts
an electric slide of the heart
beating to beat the band

a brush of her hand
when yr too close for discomfort
a brand spankin new canvas
that u can’t color by numbers

and so i stumbled like a stammer
i made it all up on the spot
i don’t know whether she cared or not
but i felt words about new futures
just aching to spill out

time to
chill
out
must
breathe
in

original sin dripping off of her like liquid laughter
and i don’t know what i’m after
or even where she’s at
but i’m happy to have even half
of the brand of musish music she’s plunked out
on the keys to my heart-to-heart talkbox.

in short
she rocks
like stones rolling
like sex pistols
like the who
who is she to shake me into bliss
even my acquired west coast sensibilities
never gave me the abilities
to handle aftershocks like this.

she rocks
like
kiss
planted on cheek
i am knocked into next weak in the knees.
she’s
just sitting there
an overall good woman
looking good in overalls

i need an overhaul
a revision
a second opinion
a remix

my coming apart at what it seems
may not be for the squeamish

but i mean this.
i do.
i can’t help it.
she was a love poem at first sight
and i had to run home and tell it.

and that’s why i let her do this to me.
it’s outward praise of inner beauty.
it’s a chance to express the bashfully unmentionable.
and i do it because
she sat at a picnic table
she wore overalls
and she
was exceptional.

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"You Sensitive Bastard", Rob Sturma's latest book of poems, is available directly from the author. It's a pretty book with a real ISBN number and everything.

www.myspace.com/robsturma