One day you may veer your van or perhaps

the spiffy family sedan off the 422 freeway

driving home by the back way, past the Corinthian

Yacht Club, where guests palmed their cognacs

when you and I stripped and dove underneath

the dock by the tackle and gift shop.

You may try to remember

the swish of my gypsy dress hitting the planks

any maybe lift your hand from the wheel

trying the sketch the curve of my spine,

the Cyrillic tattoo right under its dip.

Your wife, blonde like a baby, will remain slack

against the leather headrest, but the kid

in back will ask, Dad? What’s
up with your hand?

Yo! Dad! And you’ll say, Nothing.
But you’ll

hard, try to recall if the sound of dance band

came swinging up from the clubhouse,

if there were deer by the marina or just pockets of fog,

shifting, if the air was warm with grass and magnolia

or lavishly scentless, and what may come through

are those footsteps, like gunshots, overhead—

a waitress in her white apron and little lace hat

carrying cocktails to the pier’s
gazebo. Her surprise,

her giggles, Jeez, guyz! Youse shouldn’t
be here!

our smiles of relief, slatted by moonlight—

and how, afterward, we both fit in one spotted towel

the one she had left us.

Then, after you steer that slick car up your driveway

you may wonder in the few seconds it takes

your garage door to howl open

what has happened to me, what in the world

has become of you

Elisabeth Majewski is a native from Eindhoven, The Netherlands. She works as a part-time English instructor at Montgomery County Community College and is a freelance translator in Dutch, French and German. Her poetry has been published in French by the La Fontaine poetry association at Elisabeth lives in Gilbertsville, PA.

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