Arabica, Salems & Dead Roses
Mood:  amorous
Topic: Fantasies of Life
?Copyright 2006 Renee Matthews-Jackson


We meet each Thursday
At Arabica
He's married
So am I
We're friends
Actors
Poets
Our spouses know
And pretend not be jealous
We're smokers
They aren't
We stir our coffee while we talk
They drink theirs
At the breakfast table
We each have four adult-children
(What an oxymoron)
We laugh and blow nicotine
In each others faces
Sometimes the smoke
Mixed with breath
Teases
Sometimes not
We tend to ignore
Those nuances
The dried flowers
Center stage
Give a deadly aroma
Almost toxic
As they glare
With unbridled suspicion
At our being non-illicit
We discuss
Politics
(which he hates)
War
(which I abhor)
Theatre and Poetry
(which I adore, him too)
Our encounter
Usually lasts an hour or two




It all started by chance
Back in late '04
I was sitting at a small table
Reading "Punishment and Social Control"
By Blomberg and Cohen
Engrossed on the chapter
That speaks on
The Crime of Punishment
Cigarette smoke billowing
Above my head
We could still smoke in public back then
I caught his eye
While he was in line
Ordering his favorite brew
I saw him too
But pretended to be oblivious
I really didn't want to be bothered
He walked over to the table
I rolled my eyes (at myself)
But was congenial to him
Smiled
Asked him to sit
Needless to say
He did




The conversation
Is always edifying
Almost zen
Spiritual
That book
Got us off to a good start
There aren't many topics
We haven't tossed about
Our sex talks are tantalizing
Religious discussions
Breathe life into our nostrils
Male/Female issues
Have made sex
With my husband
The ultimate rush
He's good for me
I'm good for him
We have plans
To change
Our meeting day
To Wednesday
A hump day rendezvous
May be rejuvenating
Especially with hot java
As the instigator



Author's Comments:

This poem is a figment of my over-zealous imagination. I have been married for 33 years ti the same man and love him. But, he knows my fantasy about Denzel Washington.