She had become so lonely
in her self-imposed exile since
she lost her job to “down sizing.”
Imagined herself walking among
many, unleashing her desires,
wrapping them around the legs
of unsuspecting pedestrians.
She would do like a puppy
and give them little love bites.
She would do like a kitten
and give them little love scratches.
She thought of frolicking among
the crowds downtown.
Relished the idea of lunch in a
She knew just where, The Royal Exchange,
at Front and Sacramento:
She licked her lips thinking not of food
but of the crowds there at lunch time.
The place was crowded.
Just what she had hoped for,
three hunks led by the hostess went by.
She readied her best smile.
Brushed them with knowing eyes.
Selected the best looking for
her company––eternal––of course.
He returned her smile, studied
A second later he was at her side.
As he leaned over, she watched his
chest hairs through the opened shirt,
smelled his cologne. Fantasized over
their impending date. She waited.
He said: May I take the catsup?
Camincha is a pen name for a writer living in the Bay Area.