The Parlor Games

 

I watched her eat. 

She delicately lifted 

each forkful of the 

French silk pie to her mouth. 

She took dainty bites. 

I blushed. 

I felt silly watching her. 

The parlor games of flirtation. 

She knew I was watching. 

She knew I was in the game. 

I blushed again. 

The embarrassment of my desire filling my face.

The orderly entered the 

day room.

“Okay old folks, TV time,” he said.

I turned in my seat and reached

for my cane.

She wiped the corners of her

small mouth with a napkin

as another caretaker wheeled

her wheelchair away from the table.

I won’t see her again

until breakfast time.

I hope I can watch her eat

her scrambled eggs then.

The game never stops,

the attraction never wanes,

I imagine her and I together, being young, instead of old.