She asked if she
should bring back a straw
for you, as she went out.

I think – at that moment,
I would have gotten you a hundred straws,
the very best from a thousand places –
only to decide they best be kept to myself,
or better yet, left for others to give.

I was sure to keep my eyes
engaged in the study of
some part of the far wall and floor
that was, before then, unstudied by
trained eyes like mine, I’m sure.

And that just to have my eyes evade yours, a legitimate first.
I didn’t want to contemplate straws.
Anything, oh, anything else, I’d rather have pondered -
like eyewear, or books,
or lunches, or movies, or cold brick roads at night,
or mix-tapes on compact discs,
but not straws.

Anything, oh anything else,
but that compromising red-letter wrapped straw.