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