"Culling" by Margaret Vidale
No small talk was required. I filled
coffee cups, added sugar or cream
and smiled at the next person in line.
You roamed the room, hunter eyes
assessing the milling parishioners.
Delicate features, slender figure, shy
demeanor, you’d know her when you
saw her. Unaware of your tightening
circle, I was startled when you moved
in close to me. Sparking your eyes,
gleaming your smile, you requested
Three sugars please, then stepped
back and watched as the refill line
dwindled. When I began to remove
dirty cups, you leapt forward to assist,
swirling me into a daze of dazzling
wit and compliments-- lovely
French brown eyes, ballerina grace.
By the time we’d finished cleanup,
you had roped your charm securely
around me. Walking back to my
apartment, your hand rested firmly
on my lower back. At the front door
you placed a small, searing kiss
on my upturned cheek. I’ll call
this evening you whispered. You belong
to me now, hissed the moist imprint
of your mouth on my flushed face.