ammophila breviligulata

he comes in wearing a tuxedo.
what's the occasion, i wonder, but keep it to myself.
"you'll like the orange," i say instead.
"thanks."
on my advice, he takes the orange
and also a small coffee.
"what are you reading?"
took me a minute to realize he is talking to me.
"the biography of ron burgundy," i say.
adding gratuitously, "it's fiction."
then kicking myself like a spastic kangaroo.
it's fiction.
really, captain obvious?
"it's not much of a book," i prattle on apologetically.
he looks up from his mini-computer, offers me the ghost of a smile, looks away,
clearly not wanting to engage.
too embarrassed to look anywhere but my book,
terribly embarrassed by my stupid book,
i gaze blindly at the paper.
anger sprouts from my embarrassment
like beach grass, green from beige sand.
how could i be so stupid.
i know that books are a staple of his existence,
and i am caught reading this drivel.
as quickly as it fired, my anger dissipates.
i sigh, wrap up the remains of my granola crunch yogurt, prepare to go.
"let me know how you like it," he says.
"what?"
"the book. let me know how you like the book."
he gestures at the cover, smiles again lightly,
and that's when i realize where he's going in that tux:
the academy awards.






with help from:
http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/word-box