What I Saw The Day I Thought You'd Leave Me

(Conduit #18, Spring 2007)

As he strolls away from the bench he's been sunning himself on, the older man's bull-walrus chest parts the air like the prow of a big ship in a storm.

The middle-aged girl sits down on the end of the bench, her lumpy belly sticking out of an athletic shirt made for younger women pretending to be fit.

The bull-walrus strolls back, now shirtless, ancient tattoos drooping through hairy arms. He lies down on the bench facing her. Knees up, his balls and his penis bulge out of gym shorts made for much younger crotches and he starts to do sit-ups. He bounces forward to the middle-age girl and then back and then forward and then back and then forward and then back and then. She just sits there.

You and I speak for the first time. We debate whether or not this couple is married or are complete strangers. We can't decide. They sit in such intimacy and ignore one another so well.

She gets up and walks away. He does more sit-ups.

You curl against my breast and murmur, "Don't move. This feels good."