f

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.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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