8 o'clock date with the guy whose number was scribbled on a book of matches

forget the way we writhed on the dance floor
forget the entangled goodbye in front of our friends
forget the exhilarating hours of seduction on the phone
now that we've met again
we're not the same people
you picked me up at eight
wearing the same sweater you had worn that first night
was it for good luck
or so that I'd recognize you?

at dinner our conversation was forced
a question, an answer, a pause
and a quick "would you like another roll?"
maybe it was because we were in public
and our intimacy had surpassed first date small talk
but we ate a lot of bread

or maybe it was because we were sober
because now we are alone
we do not kiss
we are almost shy
trying to sit close
trying to touch each other
is like trying to sneak by a porcupine
tip-toeing by on a bed of dry leaves

we have nothing in common
and it's only 9 o'clock

Stephanie Feldstein

From April, 2001 issue