She agrees to meet him
at the grocery Co-op
to talk about her work.
Who could complain
there
in such a public place about
him
being nearly sixty and
her
being younger
than his daughter turning twenty?
He arrives earlier than
expected and is
uncomfortable with what he
is doing
there.
Searching the store for
her.
It seems to
him,
this time
walking through the aisles,
the meat is
vividly primal,
the mounds of juicy
vegetables incredible,
even the wine
too suggestive
for what he has in mind.
She arrives minutes later
catching him by surprise
wearing heels, tight jeans, thin sweater,
lipstick as red as apples,
eyes flashing
light like lemons. Seeing
him,
she asks about his daughter,
and he of
her
parents.
He ought to have
picked her up
there,
but it would be awkward.
they would
wonder. Better privately
where anyone could get
groceries.
She wants
to share a salad –
where,
holding his bowl,
he studies her
hands, her smile, her hair
as she dabbles the tongs,
talking about
college and everything
going on
there
acutely aware of
her
perfume, her beside
him,
his daughter’s
text – give her my best –
resonating throughout the room.
Walking behind her
into the eating area –
table to the side, booth in the rear.
She turns, questioning
in her eyes.
For a moment he is young,
freshness on his fingers,
ripeness on
his tongue.
He sighs, putting down his salad,
plastic forks and knives,
pulling out her chair into the
afternoon sun.
acutely aware of the
distance between their lives,
sharing with
her
something funny and innocent about
him
something should anyone care,
seeing them
there,
wouldn’t seem as strange to them
as it does to him.
Categories: Poetry, Selection: 2010 - 2015
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