M & M

 

He watches her from across the table –

Her head tilted forward,

her hair shining in the light,

her left hand holding it in place

while she reads his poetry.

Occasionally she laughs –

at a funny line

or at the country music playing around them,

every song about drinking.

He watches her eyes, her face,

as she studies his work.

He watches her cheek dimple when she smiles,

sees her pause at certain times,

knowing she understands.

She turns the pages gently,

she handles his emotions with care.

​

Her hand touches her cheek,

her chin rests in its palm,

her perfectly curved nails

press into her soft skin.

He wants to reach out,

put his hand there,

tell her she’s beautiful.

But there’s a little boy looking over her shoulder.

Maybe he likes poetry

or perhaps he has already developed

an eye for pretty women.

The restaurant is filling now,

people getting louder,

and it gives an excuse to go into the cool night

where they stand close, their breath misting.

​

She wears a long, white coat

with the collar turned up,

puts her hands in her pockets,

presses her arms tight to her sides

until she’s used to the cold.

He puts his arm around her

and they walk down the street

near the old houses.

The sky is clear when they stop.

There’s a small park and a bench

so they sit,

close to each other.

They look for constellations

and their laughter warms them

and attracts the attention of people passing by

who whisper.

And they laugh more.

​

A clock sounds the hour.

It’s late,

less people walk by.

It’s time to go.

Their walk to the car is slow –

feet, legs moving together,

arms around each other.

Like children, they step over cracks

but give up the game

when cracks overtake the entire sidewalk.

 

To delay the evening,

he suggests replanting a sprout

that has struggled through the sidewalk,

but the car is waiting.

On the road, after a few minutes,

she is asleep, leaning against him.

The radio plays softly

while she holds his arm and dreams.

He tries not to disturb her and looks down,

watching the street lamps light up her face.

In this light she is a new beauty.

Asleep

she is free from concern,

her face smooth, relaxed,

and he regrets turning onto her street,

into her drive.

He stops,

turns off the car,

expects her to wake,

but she doesn’t.

He puts his arm around her carefully,

and she pulls closer.

He whispers to her,

saying how much fun he had,

how much he loves her,

then looks down to see one eye open,

her lips holding back a grin.

He laughs, kisses her, and walks her to her door.

​