Your umbrella is upas the rain comes downand now you are fumblingat the parking meterdownloading an appfrom the atmosphereso you can feed the meterone foot away.Totally worth itwhen you enterthe glass café and are offereda booth or table.The booth also has a tableand then your guest arrivesmore brilliant than youand kind of shiny andnow there’s water with lemonand tea with lemonand a woman with a lemonwho sits puckery and tart.The waiter pours a pitcherof water on your headas your eyes twitch towardthe damp umbrella.He removes the menusand walks away leaving youunordered. This is going wellyou say to your guest aslemon woman shines.Two bowls arrive with two spoonsand then some bubbling sauce.Curry you say before the bowlis taken away. A duck arriveswith a bill. You’ve been herebefore, soaked in public withpeople you barely know, extraswith other lives. After you duckthe bill your guest suggestsa quickie in the closet. You are
intrigued but there areother ducks to pay anda family at home hangingon the walls and some kind ofsomething is welling up insideso you sorry excuse yourselffrom the tangle with a classyhug and cheek peck. Thiswill not go down as the greatestshow on earth, butas you approach your parked caranother duck is flapping underyour wiper blade and there’sa lemon woman in the passengerseat, so the ride home is alreadyfilling with promise.
Brian Builta lives in Arlington, Texas, and works at Texas Wesleyan University in Fort Worth. His work has been recently published or is forthcoming in Jabberwock Review, Juke Joint Magazine, South Florida Poetry Journal, New Ohio Review and TriQuarterly.