SLASH - A Rycke Foreman Film

Sweat runs off of my body
Like a million little ships
Setting sail.
The terry cloth towel below me,
Sticking to my legs
As I watch,
From behind the red velvet flower tops.

If you saw me
You'd think I was sunbathing;
An ordinary guy,
Sitting in the grass,
In the park.

But I'm not.
I'm waiting, waiting...
Tortured by the endlessness
Of waiting.

My gold wrist watch strikes one.
A bead of sweat escapes my forehead
And finds a new home
Atop the glass face of my watch.
"Come out..."
I whisper to myself in a hot, heavy breath.
"Come out, come out..."
Like a mantra I have no control over,
The words spill from my lips.

And then she does.
At one everyday,
When her shift is over.
Everyone's favorite waitress,
My sweetheart.

She stands in front of the glass doors
Under the awning with the weather-beaten shingles,
In her tight peach and white uniform,
And her taut red curls.

She's as breathtaking now
As she was when I first saw her--
Three years ago next month.

She takes her first breath of fresh air,
Since before the breakfast shift.
I watch her chest rise and fall,
Slowly,
With satisfaction.
She crosses the street,
And walks towards me.

I clench my fists hard,
Nails digging into my palm,
Knuckles white with desperation,
Trying to hold onto this moment,
But it's like water
Passing through loose fingers.

She walks right past me.
No eye contact,
No smile,
No, "David I've been waiting for you!"

Watching her walk away
Is like a million bees
Piercing my skin with stingers,
Leaving me lonely
Ugly, pathetic
Against the bold beauty of the flowers.

Soon,
She'll understand
The agony of the bee stings
And she'll realize
How goddamn lucky she is,
That I love her.