By little Camilla Jean Welsch
I got playful, I admit.
You know, it was because her eyes
were showing it.
The secret what?
Well, love of course,
in the form of a game you have to keep hush about.
I said it to the cashier
(not out loud of course).
In my mind,
I said, “I got you, girl,”
(not out loud of course,
because that’s not part of the game,)
because when I saw her
I knew, of course,
we both knew,
that it was a bad day,
and that I needed to eat peanut M&M’s
straight from my purse, of course,
and she was not-judging-in-the-slightest, patient with my payment form
(hey, 3rd time’s a charm),
and that she couldn’t bear
to somewhere find some bigger bags
when she had 5 people behind me in line,
so she just stuffed some big items into small bags,
and they stuck out ridiculously of course,
but I didn’t mind,
and thanked her for each little gesture
of handing to me, of course.
And when we said goodbye
we twinkled again in each other’s eyes.
Later, I even had a little cry in my car
and hoped she’d hang on to the lingering memory of the game, like I did.
Because her day was worse than mine,
and she had played
with the secret just fine, of course.
And I admit that,
yes, it was,
her game was better than mine.