In the shadow of Disneyland,
I clerked near a woman
physically and mentally desirable.
Not caring that she slept with the boss,
I watched her panty lines and
seduced her with serious conversation.
Peacocks screamed outside our motel,
trying to warn me that I would be fired,
and that she would not leave her husband.
My Old Flame
After eleven years, I called her
from the LAX departure lounge
and knew her voice at once.
“Remember those peacocks?” I said,
and she did. Then, tentatively,
“I think of you often. How’s your life?”
Hers was no better than mine and
before I flew off, she agreed to meet later.
My regrets, left behind,
spun slowly on a carousel in an empty hall.
“The years have been good to you,”
I say when she steps from the convertible,
her hair windswept and blonde.
In a restaurant overlooking the bay,
I unload my baggage. She touches my hand and says,
“There are no guarantees.”
And so, without warranties,
we step off the dock
of the known world.