Post office

The girl in the ripped jeans
from the post office
is here again
buying coffee
at the doughnut shop
This time she glances, while
chocolate is on my lip

The boy shows up on cue
just after she orders
the one I showed my poems to–
I don’t give him away
watching him
smell her hair
while she pays the cashier

He is twenty-eight
with the air of one
that did not give up
his teenage years with grace.
He picks up a quarter, and
pockets it

My pen glides over the paper
an ice skater
dreaming of a masterpiece
in the middle of minutiae–
I don’t look up as they pass
his knuckles rapping my table

Our practiced ease
is a comfort
on no sleep and pastry
daydreaming
of my face in his hair
I look into my cup–
my coffee turning
counter-clockwise

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16 thoughts on “Post office

  1. I love the ease of your writing… I feel I’m there… nonchalantly…effortlessly…. such a beautifully captured moment!

    Like

  2. I really like this, the details of the “short short story” and especially that there is suspense and tension in the writer’s relationship with him, and in her covert behavior. It’s also got a noir directness, like a tinge of Dashiel Hammett meeting Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, somewhat laconic and slightly dreary with realism.

    Like

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