There's three of us
into eternal sunsets
afternoons asleep
Afternoons like this I’m so happy I’m being shallow. I’m being overly self-conscious. A pseudo-profound side of me crusades against this shallowness and retaliates with that haiku that appears eloquent when (and only when) you’re drunk.
Yes, we were drinking. After work in the evening, we had lunch out in a decent-enough Greek restaurant. Lamb gyros with tzatziki sauce in wheat pita. The place had a huge blackboard with the day’s specials and a large “Opa” in Greek letters. The little one was his stroller and I’ve already started with beer. I look at D. and remember all our dates and the countless times I told her I love her and her cooking and her tastes.
We went home and the little one lets us watch movie. I drink some more, maybe three or four. The engaging movie takes us to Genova, an Italian medieval town with charming alleyways. It rode us to nearby ports, beaches, coasts where you scoot along roads with a view of waves crashing against cliffs.
We are in this room and this room is a shoreline. The sun is warm but the sand is cold, powdery cream rubbing wrapping itself on my feet like a velvet towel constantly rinsed by the water. Finally, we are all asleep, hanging on to this sunset.
We've had so many of these afternoons. With so much of this shallow happiness, it goes deep.
