And you Hesitate

-

I toss a handful of shrimp into the skillet

on the campfire in the sandpit that you requested.

It's cold. It's cold. And your brown maudlin

eyes follow the seagulls to the edge of the bridge

where the fishermen pack up their tackle boxes

before they vacate the pier. And you hesitate

just a little too long, until your attention returns

to the dog-eared pages of, "The Catcher in the Rye",

that you've read five times. And you grip it

tight enough for me to know that you are thinking,

he's not Holden, so why am I with him.

The shrimp bubble in the lemon juice so loud that

I shake the skillet slowly to keep them from bursting.

You meld deeper into the world you wish for.

So fully that the black print nearly melts into tar.

-