I wish you hadn’t done that.
Looked across the bar at me
and stared as you sipped your beer.
I felt like a specimen, trashy,
with too much jewelry
and too little sobriety.
I wish you hadn’t smiled like that,
slowly. A grin spreading across your face
like a bit of paper picked up by a breeze.
I had no choice. I smiled back
and oddly studied my own glass,
the beer foam drying around the rim,
as though I were begging for a refill.
Really, I wish you hadn’t.
(written at the High Desert Retreat, October 2010)