Tuna Sandwich and Strawberry Tart
Beside me, on the bench,
basking in the first rays of spring sunshine,
chow mein, fried rice, and a lone shrimp dumpling.
Remains of my hasty Chinese takeout lunch.
Torpor and digestion are winning me over,
drawing me into a deep reflection
on the iron laws of gravity.
Every inch of my skin feels pressed
against the hard wood.
The warm lambent light
stumbles on my decidedly closed eyelids.
The smell of tuna betrays a stranger’s presence.
Arduously, I unseal my eyelids.
And there she is,
standing,
holding a sandwich and a bakery bag.
She wants to share my bench.
I shove the chow mein aside.
She takes over the space:
places her sandwich beside her,
grabs her handbag, rummages in the main pocket,
pulls out a cellphone, turns it on,
sighs, turns it off,
puts it away at random.
Devours her sandwich.
On the lake, in a nest of reeds,
ducks are smoothing their feathers with their beaks.
Their beige and brown plumage glistens
with the reflections of the glowing sun that enhances their cold, dull colors.
The antics of the kids escaping from the nearby school
trouble not their feather-focused attitudes.
She’s fiddling with her phone again.
Until, out of despair, it seems,
she unwraps the bakery paper and bites
into a strawberry tart.
I’m watching.
Powdered sugar piles up under her nose
like the remnants of a line of cocaine.
Her lips, reddened by the fruit, undulate with each chew.
“Do you come here often?” I ask.
Her jaws stop. She looks at me, swallows.
I refrain a smile
as I picture her face trying to smile back.
Evrard Klein lives in Paris, where he writes in English and French. A historian, he enjoys exploring all literary traditions and has been working on several projects, including two novels, poems, and flash fictions.