Two Timing Poem

On the last day of January, the only snowy day of the month, I walked into my favorite sandwich shop. Waiting for me was my future best friend. We met in this shop for coffee and sandwiches last month to discuss an article she was writing for the paper about local poets. During that December meeting, we had both been professional. According to her email before today’s meeting, her editor wanted her to follow up with me. I agreed to another interview, I mean, it would be great publicity for my new poetry book. I walked in, looked her way, and acknowledged her presence with a wave before setting my jacket and bag on the chair where I was planning on sitting..

“I’m going to order first. Is that okay?” I asked her, trying to be professional, but feeling a bit awkward.

“That’s fine,” she said. “Just tell them to put it on my tab.”

I didn’t know this sandwich shop did tabs like a bar.

“Okay, thank you, Ms. Lynn,” I said, politely agreeing to her terms. Walking up to the counter with this new information on payment, I pondered the items I had always wanted to try, but didn’t want to risk my wallet. Noticing my indecisiveness from behind her counter, the young man whose parents own this shop, waited patiently before saying, “The Raspberry Avocado Turkey Club is our newest sandwich.”

“I think I’ll try it,” I said, wondering how those three things taste conglomerated.

“And to drink?” He asked.

“Um, just a water. And she said to add this to her tab, I guess.” I said.

“Oh, yeah, she said whatever you order, she’ll pay for it.” He said, ringing up the total as he was handing me a cup for water.

“Thank you,” I said, before turning towards the drink fountain, filling my semi-clear red glass with ice and water, and returning to the table at which Ms. Lynn was preparing for the interview. Picking up and moving my contents from one chair to another, I noticed a familiar sticker on her laptop. Without thinking, I commented, “Oh! I love that artist! What’s your favorite song?”

As she looked up from the laptop and gave me a confusing look, she reached out to lower the screen and see what I meant.

“Oh, I must’ve grabbed my partner’s laptop by mistake.” She said.

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” I said with a calm tone, but cursing my inner monologue.

After that awkwardness, she started typing before pausing, looking at me, and asking, “Since we spoke last month, you said that you’re working on something. Are you still working on that project? And could you remind our readers what you were working on?”

I had felt my confidence bounce back when she asked that question, “Yes, I was working on my first published book of poetry that I had written since I first discovered rhyming when I was fourteen. I am unfortunately not working on it anymore.”

“Oh!” She said with surprise before finishing her typing, “Could you expand more on that, please?”

“Yes, certainly. I have finished it, and it will be published and available for sale by the fourteenth.” I said, feeling the confidence refueling me.

“Just in time for Valentine’s Day. Are there any love poems in this book that readers can recite to their lovers when they buy it?”

“There are a few, yes,” I said.

“Without giving away any details, could you recite one here?” She asked confidently.

“I have one that I wrote for my partner. It goes as follows:

Your love for me

Reminds me of spring

The flowers’ bloom

The birds, they sing

Your eyes of sky

Your skin of sun

Words of syrup

With you, I’ve won.”

After I recited the final line, Ms. Lynn stopped typing and gaped her mouth wide, like she had heard that poem before.

“Here’s your sandwiches, ladies. Here is the BLT for you,” He said, sliding the plate to Ms. Lynn, the newspaper journalist, before sliding my Raspberry Avocado Turkey Club in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said to the young man before he walked back to the kitchen.

Ms. Lynn was still looking in awe and staring at me.

“What’s wrong? Did they forget the bacon? Too much mayonnaise?” I ask.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just a little confused at the moment.” She said.

“About?” I ask, trying to be polite while eating a sandwich.

“You said you wrote that poem for your partner?” She asks.

“Uh, huh!” Right after the last time you interviewed me.” I said, putting my half-eaten sandwich back in the basket, “Why…?”

“Because my boyfriend wrote that in a card he gave me, on Christmas…” She said, looking out of the window at the snow flurries collecting on the outside of the window.

“That’s weird,” I said, not connecting the dots quite yet.

“You and this partner, are you two still together?” She asked.

“Yeah, Darren and I have been dating for about three months. Why?” I ask, thinking something is up, but my awkwardness is creeping back up.

“Darren Smith? Drives a black truck, professor at the college, Darren Smith?” She asked.

“Yeah….” I said, “Are we dating the same guy. Did you ask him about that poem?”

“No, I just assumed he got AI to write it or something.” She said.

“HEY!” I said, taking offense.

“I mean, I knew he didn’t write it himself.” She said, before closing her laptop.

“Is the interview over?” I ask, gargling down the new club sandwich.

“For now.” She said, closing the computer before sliding it back into her bag.

“So, what are we going to do?” I ask.

“One of us is going to invite him here for an intervention.” She said, looking back down at the laptop and contemplating whether or not to destroy it.

“I’ll call him,” I said.

“Good.” She agreed.

“Hey, honey, I miss you. I haven’t seen you all week.” I start the phone conversation, looking towards her, not wanting to giggle. “Well, I’m at the sandwich shop.” “Uh huh, that one.” “Why not? Don’t you love me?” “Pretty please, honey bear. My big, strong man.” “Okay, see you in a few.” “Bye.”

I turn back to her and say, “I wonder why he hesitated?”

“Because he can see my location.” She said.

“Oops.” We both said before extending our arms to each other.

“My name is Carol.” She said.

“I’m Georgia,” I said.