Lunch Date

She laughed
and smiled her wicked smile at me
one day when we were free.

I ate a cherry pepper,
laughing,
crying,
coughing vinegar into my nose.

She told me stories of men she'd loved,
predator of tender hearts,
while women whispered,
wondering:
Was her hair naturally white?

Meticulously manicured hands
fondled the salt shaker slowly.
Spilling salt danced across the tabletop.

"Throw some over your shoulder",
was my advice.

"Your smarter than that," she said
with a pained smile as she pushed back her chair.
"Besides, it's too late for that anyway."

I watched the way her fringed shoulder bag
bounced on her shapely hip
as she left me to find herself.

I wondered how far she would have to walk
before she discovered she was already home.