She's in line for coffee. I don't want to know
what she is dreaming of, but I do. I don't want to know that this is the day she leaves town on business
and arrives there on pleasure. She has met someone else and just the thought it, the thought of him
, makes her heart race and she pulls a strand of hair behind one ear,
he'll meet her at the airport, squeezing her waist and
putting his hand under her suitcoat, under her waistband
just for a moment.
I wish I could see her as just her as another customer-
You know, just another bagel and latte,
but I can't help but see what I see
and know what I know.
I know that her contacts are green, and not her natural color.
She appears calm, but her fingernails (bitten to the quick)betray her.
I could tell her all of this, but what would it matter?
She would still do her business, and she would she leave him.
She would still go away, and she will come back here next week.
She will stand in my line again, and tell me all of these things.
without saying a word.