(Bad) Poem with Bad Part

The woman in teal
is beautiful.
Her skin is olive,

a term of whose origin
I am not certain.

Muscles toned,
just-so
breasts, she wears

sneakers without
socks, perhaps because

she is confident.
I’ve changed
my mind; she is tan,

not olive, though her eyes are green
and her sunglasses—this is

the bad part—are pushed
back onto her head.
When I look up

she has been replaced
by a man whose beauty

is not immediately apparent.
I look for her, but she’s gone
on with her life & latte, and so

has he for that matter, leaving me
with only my face reflected

onto a pane of glass
to stare at, disappointed.