Lunch on a Tuesday

It’s lunch time on a Tuesday and we wait for Vietnamese food

At the table, the friend asks if I am over her, by saying, “You aren’t still holding out hope are you?”

And while I say, “No, that’s done with,” it’s not what my eyes express

Behind those globes of aqueous humor and vasculature the true tale hides

Embarrassed to find its way past the tip of my equally vascular tongue

I tell her what I know she will probably approve of: it’s been long enough and I’m living in relative Zen

Yes, it’s a lie, and I recognize that I should no longer tell such falsities

But I say that seeing the love of my life happy, thriving and carefree

Is just as good as waking up with her body wrapped around me

You can probably figure out that she doesn’t believe me, this astute friend

In the moment – however – she placates, nods and smiles

Then she breaks eye contact, and stares at the table for a moment

But hides emotion enough to keep the social contract intact at the time

The friend asks what happened to that place I was going to buy in Oakland

And for a moment I think that maybe I’ll just, again, lie

It’s not like that’s a stretch for me; I’m pretty much a black belt in it

But the truth flies out and I have no clue as to why

I tell her that I dropped out of the deal when my perfect peach left me

I tell her the place was for both of us, and it was to be a surprise

When I made the offer, I knew it was about time that I put up or shut up

And I knew our new life had to start in a place that first felt like mine

It’s true I meant some of what I said about how happy I’ll be to see that girl thrive

I know it’ll be with someone else, and I have grown to begrudgingly accept that

I guess our timing was off from the get-go; we never synched up

But I’ll never give up hope; I’ll never get over her –

I admit that part was a lie