The Thirty-Eighth Parallel
She told me about her friend
who lied about his age (thirty-eight).
But the age misgiving wasn’t her hangup,
it was the fact that he couldn’t kiss.
She tried three times wondering,
“What was he doing all his life?”
She told me this over a cup of coffee
And I listened intently.
I asked if he’s just shy, she shot that down:
“I stated earlier, he showed me everything,”
as she gave two thumbs up and a wink.
I replied, “But was his conversation any good?”
She shot that down as well: “I didn’t
keep him around for the conversation.”
I mentioned my friend from Missouri,
who also told me she was thirty-eight.
Plus, she didn’t tell me about the kids
and husband till many months later.
I laughed about it even mentioning how
I think she is my long-lost twin sister.
We even bought the same t-shirts.
Also, she’s tall and crazy.
We spent several more minutes
chatting about our travels, family, and
spouses as she announces:
“I’ve been faithful.”
She goes on to state how men
can’t be faithful. I countered.
But she smirked and looked away.
We sat for a few minutes silent while
she waited for me to flinch, keeping her
eyes above the brim fixated on my thoughts.
Our coffees ran low matching the exchange.
It was time to meander back.
I went inside to drop off the dishes.
She stepped across the street to take pics.
I watched the wind gliding over her entirety,
as her hair tussled behind and danced with
the looseness of her coat.
The light shaded, highlighted, traced the folds
of her clothes and intent expression.
Her skin was quiet, but glowing gamma rays.
I wanted to tell her that the pics she sent me
didn’t remotely do her justice, and I wanted to see
How I rated compared to her three times
‘You’re Out’ dumped (not thirty-eight) boyfriend.
Maybe I’ll walk over and place a hand
on her waist, or is it both hands – or should I
place one hand on her shoulder? Or better yet,
I’ll just ask if it’s ok. I heard that works.
She noticed me watching, and signals me
to cross.
It’s go-time.
I stepped over the separating double yellow bands
onto the sidewalk where she held ground.
She asked what’s the name of this street.
I replied, “It might be the 38th parallel.”
I looked at her and smiled. Before I could
Ask, launch forth, or lean in she reminded me:
“Hey don’t forget to take some pictures.
That was what you told her you were doing today.
Here’s one.”
She pointed to the sign.
Under, Stop, someone wrote:
Collaborate and Listen.
Horror Sleaze Trash 