Sea-blue Eyes

she needed to have seen Albert and me
on the way to dinner with her sons, and invited us to join them

rather than to have seen us on the way back
to her hotel room with her noodles,
with all that was left over, in a container in a plastic bag
to pass off, to hand us, to offer

not wanting what they’d eaten over, what they couldn’t eat,
to go to waste, chose Albert and me to give her charity to,
to make her charity case, to give her charity cake

drew back though, embarrassed at her faux pas,
blushing, apologizing, sorry if she’d offended us

no idea who the two men were, in conversation
in Marina Village, outside of Starbucks

either of us could have been Jackson Burnside,
designer of Marina Village, sitting, conversing,
sharing other ideas

instead of inviting us to accept, to carry home,
her sons’ and her leftover noodles,
it would have been a bit more polite, a little more acceptable
had she invited us to join them in Carmines for dinner

simultaneously selecting from what was served

did Albert and I look like servants she has,
her gardener maybe, some handymen


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
6:13 p.m. 21/june/06