He is standing in his kitchen laughing with his wife
about me. She is cutting tomatoes on the wood counter
where he made me coffee, sliced a piece of chocolate
cake onto the plate. His wife is crushing garlic
cloves for the eggplant, he is laughing with her saying
I am whatever he is saying. His polyester shirt clings tight
to his body, untouched by his wife. She is smoking Marlboros
next to the stove, dumping cloves of garlic into the hot
oil. He is laughing, brushing the hair from her face
with his hand as she moves the wooden spoon in the pan,
as she laughs when he says something I can’t hear
but I see it as if I were there.
|