a need for bread and milk takes
me to the supermarket
where parking is precious
and cars bathe
like wedding dresses
in the smiles of happy people.
i find a spot, park and glance across.
before i get out i watch
a man and a woman
shyly smiling,
exchanging glances
in the car next to mine,
oblivious in their seclusion.
the guy is not old enough
to be my dad but close,
the woman too:
you can tell she used to be stunning.
bread and milk later
they're still there:
her hand on his collar
her words making him blush
while her eyes trace
the details of his face.
he's holding a brochure
for a thrilling getaway
of mist-covered lakes
tall grass
stony fireplaces
scented sheets
and sweet surprise.
a little embarassed
by my own voyeurism,
i start the car and complete the simple quest.
later i remember
seeing a woman
in a stationwagon
around the corner,
contemplating the road ahead.
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