What Sex Becomes
Olivia Gatwood
I remember being a waitress
on Valentine’s Day and loving
the newness on a couple’s face,

how I watched, like the only patron
at a matinee, as they shared
everything they ate.

I would deliver their sundae
with an extra cherry–
the one she would slide into her mouth–
a preview of what was to come.

I felt like a school teacher
who goes home to no children,
a cab driver without a car,

a therapist who cries
in the middle of the night
and can’t figure out why.

Leave a Reply