Crumbs

The early days
when you lived
in the one-room apartment
above Balducci’s Deli

that whole summer
spent with
the windows open and
the fan going

Commercial Drive’s melody
floating in
making us
a part of the action

days when your apartment
above the deli’s kitchen
was fifteen degrees hotter
than outside

we’d strip down

me
in my white cotton underwear
and no-nonsense bra

you
in your boxers (the ones your mom made)
with the Flintstone’s on them

on the cool tan vinyl couch
i watched you eat a kiwi
whole
skin and all

not caring
about the green juice
running down your arm
and onto your chest

leaving nothing for me
i licked the tart juice
from your fingers

finding their way
onto my over-heated skin
the lingering taste
of the fuzzy fruit
still on your tongue

faint accordion music
seeped
through the floor boards
an odd soundtrack for our hunger

today
watching you eat samosas
wiping the grease and crumbs
on your pants

pausing only
to cheer for the Canucks
and sip your beer

not once taking your eyes
off the TV to see me
sitting on the same tan couch

I wonder how
I became a girl
willing to settle for
crumbs

Illusions

The sense of satisfaction
I felt last night
as you held me in your arms

while she paged you, wondering
where you were
was short-lived.

Loneliness took up residence
in your place,
shortly after you drove away.