I smile, Bette, at you

in your blue jeans

and white halter top.

Your bare feet

and painted red toes

on the dashboard.

I cringe a little,

your hungry voice

taking shrill bites

out of a Journey song.

We are traveling the dark highway

headed for our favorite

motel on the cape.

The one where

Aphrodite checks us in.

I watch you unpack,

everything folded

then unfolded and hung.

The morning is over the top in splendor

and a walk will do us good, you say.

We come to Provincetown center,

and walk to the end of the pier.

Bette and I sit on the bench

open the bag with coffee and croissants

look out over the water

and she whispers in my ear,

It doesn’t get any better than this.

Let’s shout it out, I say

No, sweetheart

It’s a stolen moment.

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