Been seeing poems, been reading signs.

I wondered if the Mexican kid
or the new girl was making
my sandwich as I sat outside
the deli smoking a cigarette.
I hoped it was the Mexican.

A minivan pulled up to the curb in front of me.
A rushed mother slid out from behind the wheel
to open the side door and release
her four-year-old daughter upon the world.
The part of me that still feels shame
from time to time
tried to hide my bogey
between my bent knees.
My knuckles grazed the bench
as I tried to appear nonchalant.
I'm not much of an actor.

Mom grabbed little Sally by the hand
and pulled her towards the neon signs
that framed the doorway of the deli.
"Best to stay away
from big, sweaty construction workers
with dirty boots and dirtier habits."
I could read minds in that lucid state.
I agreed with mom's assessment of the situation.

Little Sally stared at me sideways
as the tips of her sneakers scraped the concrete
under mom's forceful tug.
In her left hand was an ice cream bar
with the sides bitten neatly off
all the way around.
"Pretty creative for a four-year-old," I thought to myself
as the cherry of my smoke began to burn my fingers.

She'll grow up to be an innovator
after she breaks her fair share of hearts
and vice versa.



Currently reading:
"The Old Man and the Sea" by Ernest Hemingway.