You sat across from me
smiling, so I smiled back.
I watched you lick red sauce
from your greasy fingers
while I dipped celery sticks in hummus
with enough garlic to choke a demon.
Over my shoulder a man spoke of
his dog's flatulence problem.
Another wore a torn t-shirt, a ski hat,
and no jacket in the middle of winter.
Beer was good; cold in a pint glass.
I knew your question was coming.
I was purposely distracted
fumbling with my phone
dreading your nervous delivery.
The air was suddenly thin
and I thought I might suffocate.
I could always tell you wanted to ask
from way back when.
I saw your long glances in my direction
that you never tried to hide.
I know the answer you want.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish