Hopping

Hopping

Somehow we found the place, two immigrants,
a scrawled address, and a "Canadian" cabbie.
Fellow immigrant, all similarity ending there.
And the weather. What sadistic deity approved
of this temperature? Yes, yes, that’s the place.

Crumpling that piece of paper, I settled the fare.
The night took us, and with a slamming door, we
ran toward a promise of warmth, glove on glove.
Everyone was there. Two empty chairs we filled,
cold-rumped and laughing. I unwound your scarf.

Telling the waitress your favorite, then mine, I
turned to see you kissing Jill, in greeting. And
something I know not what, told me, that instant,
that I had never seen anything more lovely than
your five skipping hops, to my one stride, tonight.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009