Thursday, April 01, 2010
After the stewardess handed me
a tiny bag of party mix,
I remembered your last comment.
You said, "I can't find the cashews
in our relationship."
I didn't understand then what you meant.
sitting between a fresh-eyed boy,
staring at the skyline ofManhattan,
3,000 ft. above,
and the old King of Mattress sleepy to my left,
who fools people with his weekly
the solitary crescent moon in each bag,
the ultimate surprise,
the crunch, the salt, et cetera--
is the most cliche diamond in disguise;
it's the leap year, the penny
between the sidewalk and your car,
and I forget to reach for it.
"We're no longer in Pittsburgh,"
the pilot reminded us hours ago.
I look at the boy to my right
and the man to my left.
I'm stuck in between.
My eyes are teary, but I'm not sleepy yet.
The cashew is at the bottom of the bag.
If I sneeze,
I might miss it again.