They stared across the tableâ??minds apartâ??
And one could tell they\'d grown accustomed to
An itchy silence, but the breakfast cart
Arrived in time to serve as their excuse
For not conversing more, except, \"Are you
Enjoying that?\" or maybe, \"How\'s the juice?\"
Contrasting their discomfort was the laughter,
Which jangled merrily from other booths,
Disturbing their indifference, trailing after
Some jokes or comments made, or quick retorts
In the unbridled speech of modern youths
Who covered all their bases;
But, for the couple, years had overtaken
Enthusiastic love, replaced by meals
Amidst the sizzle-hiss of eggs and bacon,
The glitter of Formica, and the sound
Of patron conversations, as the wheels
Of new arrivals crunched the gravel ground
Outside the diner (yes, all rocks and dirt);
But as they finished up, arose to leave,
And paid the check, I saw her tug his shirt
To smooth a wayward wrinkle on the back;
Then, moving to the door, she pulled his sleeve
To whisper in his earâ??he paused to crack
A smileâ??the kind omniscient lovers share
When shuffling secrets in some wordless code
That means, \"I\'ve seen your ragged underwear;
Your best decisions; worst mistakes; and flaws,
But through it all, I\'m glad I took the road
With you, of all the ways to go, because
I love you more than anything.\" I sat,
Considering the thoughts, or lack thereof,
That led me so askew, assuming that
Material approaches to romance
Were sound, but this had proved that knowing love
Was less the grander gesture (spring in France),
And more the texture of familiar skin,
An unannounced bouquet of Tuesday flowers,
Shared secrets cloistered jointly, warm within
The borders of a union forged by rings;
And tranquil comfort, found in silent hours,
Where love sustains itself with little things.
