By Dianne Moritz
(for Mark Strand)
Salsa drips down my chin.
There is no gluttony like mine.
I’ve been eating Mexican.
The waiter does not believe what he sees.
His eyes are happy,
and he walks with one hand tucked in his vest.
The margaritas are finished.
The room is warm.
My date is walking from the bathroom.
His brown eyes blaze like jalapenos.
The waiter clears our plates.
He wants a generous tip.
When I stand and hand him money,
I am a new woman.
I say, “Gracias!” and laugh.
I skip out into the cool night.
Dianne Moritz enjoys capturing brief moments in time, celebrating trials, tribulations, and beauty of life. She dreams of publishing a book of all her drabble.