Apéritif
At a nook in the café
dense with diners
toe peruses calf
beneath the table
where one perfect tulip
in a bud vase
perches on white linen cloth
above languid circles
traced on a kneecap—
like nothing to do in your whole life but this—
circles in synch
with Sinatra
while spoons clink
and conversations buzz
sole probes thigh—
like bee nuzzles clover
and nowhere to go but
(yes) there, he sighs, she smiles
at the waiter
who brings the bisque.
©Lucy Aron, 2003
