Wednesday, September 28, 2005
He’d ask her at dinner, over hummus and water, some
Fresh green peppers, onion and cucumbers in vinaigrette
A song in the background as tender as a bottle of fine wine.
She’d be wearing a sundress, simple as a smile and
Loose as wind, open-toed sandals, and a hint
Of nervousness. He’d wait until she blushed. The words
Would taste like springtime. Who would’ve thought
She’d say thank you, fold her napkin, kiss his cheek
Say, Sorry, I prefer a man who eats red meat.