Love at Last Sight

My brain has always been a foggy swirl of what-ifs.
Every day, really. Choices. 
Of great consequence or small.
Do I ask her to marry me? What if I had?
Do I use beans in my chili? What if I do?
This morning on my daily walk
a good-looking woman, tall and much better fit than I,
flagged me down, asked me if I knew of nearby Starbucks.
I did, and I told her the way.
But she kept repeating my directions incorrectly.
Which was funny and, well, kind of sexy
the way she smiled a bit embarrassedly each time I corrected her.

My walks are a sacred writing meditation time, but . . .
I tried again, a lightbulb flashed on, and . . .

Too bad, I thought, as she walked away.
I could have walked her over there and asked her to marry me.
After my walk, I made chili for dinner; I like for it to sit and stew for a while.
I had trouble opening the can of beans,
one of those new ones with the tab,
that broke off when I pulled it.
I tossed the useless ring in the trash,
and instead of reaching for my can opener,
I wondered if I should have walked my future wife to Starbucks.

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