I see them pop up.
It’s not really so unusual here.
I imagine the dialogue,

There, you say, no there.
Yes, that’s it.  There.
The quiet direction of a voice,

EXT, the parking lot of Pali Safeway,
it’s a goldmine for writers.

These two lovers across and two cars down,
they finally surprise me by coming up for air.
Odd, how after that, now there’s a row,
they’re angry, both slamming doors,
no more touching, defying that just passed attraction.

I chew a non-chewable aspirin tablet
because I’ve always loved that bitter taste, the flakey texture,
watch this mini-movie short unreel,
isn’t it romantic, a mystery no mortal viewer may ever unravel,
some kind of classic love-hate situation maybe.

I pull out, leave this on again, off again dueling duo
stomping off into the sunset of shopping,
imagine them screaming at each other about which frozen pizza to buy,
whether they should spend a few dollars more for hearty bread,
or buy the cheap white or wheat.
Po-ke* tonight, or no po-ke?

By the time they finish battling it out,
I should be home, my headache evaporated,
like romance turned to anger in a pearl-gray BMW.

* * * * *

*Poke (poh-kay), typical Hawaiian sliced up and seasoned raw fish, or other diced/sliced food.

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