A Nicholas Sparks Matinee
They walked up to my register as
Nicholas Sparks as possible.
Twenty-something’s rounding life’s corner
all white-teethed and primed.
She’s scarfed suspiciously for late spring,
her hair billowing forth like chestnut smoke.
He, like her, dresses handsomely.
I ask them questions and they play couples roulette
better than the last few.
His interest in whatever they’re doing
here isn’t particularly important.
She chooses, smiling insanely.
It’s a romantic comedy.
I automate the cost aloud.
There is a moment of evolutionary consequence.
Both fumble about their persons for wallets,
though she’s too quick about it; she’s got her card out already but plays the skittish deer.
He turns his pockets,
then proceeds to security pat-down.
They pause, facing each other.
This is supposed to be the part
where chivalry quiets the afternoon.
Hopefully it rains- he can kiss her in it.