Mindy leans at me with wide blue eyes
sparkling stars above a steaming cup
of Bailey’s and Vanilla Bean.
Mindy always has a question
really meant for God.
Expecting me to answer her
mystified and energized
in canyon deep philosophy.
Why do lovers lock embraced
in fear and desperation
fighting odds against a world
fighting odds against a universe?
My buttered bowl of grits
stare back at me.
Lump-less and textured white.
Because they know they’ll never win
a vulnerable surrender.
Her fingers rubbing gloss red lips
hungry and seductive.
Listens distant
quite intent and satisfied
enough to pass the salt.
THE CIRCUS . . . . . . . . . AND THE ZOO 
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