"May I Take Your Order?"

My feet follow the intricate grid laid out by the neat white lines on faded asphalt.
I search the sea of dusty windows screaming “WASH ME!
And a trace of a smile plays on my lips.
Here, surrounded by the whir of rubber against pavement and the sharp obscenities of horns,
The crackle of a speaker- “May I take your order?”
We are so completely out of place it feels almost right.
Carrying a greasy paper bag of nauseating fast food is a disapproving glare,
Who turns her nose
To join the rest of the world in speeding by,
Oblivious as a teenage boy.
A breath of teasing laughter is suffocated by bitter exhaust
Laced with traces of spicy apprehension, sugary excitement,
And the bittersweet of we-shouldn’t-be-doing-this.
Spinning brushes in the lot next door thud against black and red paint jobs,
A steady heartbeat.
Your arm fits around me like lines embracing the cars surrounding us,
You squeeze my hand.
And in response to “May I take your order?”
Masked by the sound of “Two tacos and a soda, please,”
I murmur
“Yes, I’d like to live in this moment forever.”





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback