By Patrick Johnston
There are micro expressions
hiding in the pantry
as she retrieves a large jar
of Polish pickles
Do you like me?
To go with the dense brown bread
and salty sheep’s cheese
which she fetches from the refrigerator
with hesitant thoughts
Do you like me?
She puts on the electric kettle
and jokes that it should
be a samovar
I second guess my laugh
gauge for authenticity
Do you like me?
I want to tell her that I like her
But the idea seems trite
And anyway, it’s never the right
Moment
