Contributor: John Tustin

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I dream of sitting at a surfside restaurant
eating lunch across from you,
your body rising like steam
before my unfolding eyes
and you excuse yourself to use the bathroom
and my mind exclaims,
“she’s mine,
and I belong to her.”

But then it occurs to me
in a thought like an exploding star
that maybe you won’t return,
maybe you’ll never come back
and I shift in my seat,
groaning and flaking like a rusty hinge,
grieved like a dog waiting for his mistress.
And I don’t touch my food
and my eyes try not to go toward the bathroom
but there they go
and they begin to fold
and then I wake up

and I’m still
still waiting.


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