It's A Shame...

It's a shame he missed work that day, seeing as he got fired.

But I couldn't find my wallet.

And then I accidentally spilled a little wine on the carpet. 

He cleaned it with club soda 

before I offered him a glass as reward.

I wasn't there for long but long enough.  

 He smoked before, during and after,

 and my lace is still tattooed with his scent. 

He lived with his mother, but it was endearing. It was.

 She cooked for him. He lit up her heart. 

He sang her favorites. Johnny Cash. The Beatles. 

He only spoke English in song and recipes.

The type of tomato, the year of the olive, and amount of sea salt. 

Sometimes I didn't understand him, but mostly I did. 

I called him a mama's boy

and squeezed him where it makes him smile.

And that was it. 

I waved to him from the cab, and never saw him again.

 He wrote me letters scribbled in blue ink.

 I think I got three of them.

 He became a blink of my memories...

 the strong scent of fine smoke, that accent,

 the metal buckles of a belt coming undone.

love