The door of the change room opens, and she
steps out in unaccustomed yellow.
A tiny fricative escapes his lips
like methane hissing from a newly punctured
can of slightly spoiled soup. He smiles, admires
the label, but the stench hovers over the area:
neither wants to taste it.
On the way home, a fashionable green dress
with maroon accents lies in the bag on her lap.
She smiles; he smiles: her misty gaze takes in
the endless row houses to the side; he focuses
on the elusive yellow phantom pushing just beyond
the range of the headlights.