Saturday Afternoon

Pretending that you were coming
for dinner I stopped at the butcher shop.
There were men in the store
they commented on the amount
and quality of meat I was purchasing.

Pretending that you were coming
for dinner I stopped at the wine store.
I left all the decisions to the clerk
as clerks in wine stores are not clerks
at all they are sommeliers, artists
swirlers, tasters, swallowers of only
the best. I imagined that I would
serve it to you naked.

Pretending that you were coming
for dinner I stopped at a French
bakery and ordered buttertarts
and caramel pecan tarts and fruit
tarts with whipping cream.

I arrived home, thrilled with it all.
You said that fountain pens represent
freedom, so much flow from the tip
of the finger. A sketch, a poem, a ribbon
of thought. Today freedom to me was

pretending -
that you were coming.