I came in the door
grunting like a bison
with four empty stomachs
and a calf at home with a head cold,
dragged a toe on the threshold
and nearly sent five half-shredded bags
of heart healthy fruits and vegetables
two bottles of heart healthy wine
a heart healthy dark chocolate bar
and a glass bottle of the most perfect
most heart healthy cold-pressed olive oil
Mother Nature could produce
shooting across the floor
in a real-time cornucopia
of slime and color and shattered glass.
Then I caught sight of Hafiz,
sitting exactly where I’d left him,
with a pencil to his mouth
and a blank sheet of paper on his lap
and his eyes motionless, but open,
using the window as a metaphor
for actually looking around or something.
Apparently he hadn’t moved in hours–
it’s one hour each way to the grocery store
that has my chipotle marinade
and that Quintuple Chocolate Fracas ice cream I like,
and the bank isn’t exactly on the way—
and I gave him a real smug look.
Plus I had to get gas.
What have you been up to?
I’ve been sitting here
enjoying a few hours
with the heart of Creation,
thinking of you, he said.
(I was softening up by the second.)
And to be quite frank with you, he said.
(I made one of those faces like,
This means what…
you think too hard maybe…?)
Then he pulled a hot pink water pistol
out from between the seat cushions
loaded with a full clip of jasmine water
and really let me have it.
I forgot everything else
and dove at the gun
and the bottle of olive oil
rolled all the way across the room
like a perfect crescendo-building device
and we struggled like a pair
of semi-retired pistoleros
any formal training in the martial arts
until we were laughing so hard
we couldn’t breath at all
except for little scoops of air
that sounded like
we were choking on whole mallards
and I remembered how badly
I needed what I always
and still got lost sometimes
trying to find.