At First Sight

July 3, 2009

At First Sight

by Daniel Romo

We stood opposite one another,
pressing our palms against the glass,
our love lines
converging
like tributaries into the Danube.

You attributed my calluses to
honest living.
I attributed your French manicure to
Vietnamese expertise.

Little did we know at the time
that I was unemployed,
and you purchased your nails
along with matching bra and panties
at Target.

It was cold.

You blew and traced
your translucent number.
I couldn’t make out the last digit
or help but question
why you’d give me false hope.

I wondered if while you were in college,
like me, you used to work at Old Navy
and when customers asked,

“Are there any more of these jeans in the back?”
replied, “Hang on, le’  me check,”

knowing there was no back.

At least we’d have one thing in common.
But that was long ago.

Daniel Romo teaches high school, and lives in Long Beach, CA.  He has been published here and there, and is currently seeking admittance into a rather swell low residency MFA program.  He strives to be witty and relevant in his poetry, and claims to use first person too much, an addiction to SportsCenter, and gray sky the utmost inspiration.

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