fudge

last time,
crimson red slipped
down a single digit
onto linoleum floor
and she cried, "fudge"
not because she wants it
but to replace profanity.
he laughed at her,
said she was so innocent,
goody-two-shoes;
or something of the sort.
but no-
it was just that
she didn't wish to curse
in front of him or
during her shift at work.

this time,
they were outside
and the wind was strong-
he, the photographer
and she, the model;
open textbook on lap and
pen in hand on a picnic bench
and the wind blew again
flipping the page but she held it back,
ripping it in the process,
"fudge," she exclaimed,
and he laughed again.

"do you really use that term
outside of your work area
to replace obscenity?"

she flashed a sheepish grin.

"i try to, but
it doesn't always work."

and he just laughed again,
eyes twinkling all the while.