"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.