PATIENCE

I bide my time and watch you.
Your man's hands, too big
pass me a can of cold pop.
You smile at me and
my eyes find the soft spot
at the base of your throat.
I smile back: thank you.

Turn your back and
slide your hand around her waist
hips bumping
“Park him in front of the TV for a while.”
You slap her ass and both laugh.

I put down the can of pop.

The perpetual calendar I got for
Christmas
says I will be fifteen in
nine years and twenty-one days and
by then I should be big enough to take you.

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