Number 28 (With Extra Peanuts) –A Missed Connections Poem
Missed Connections in Ithaca
I saw you take those peanuts!
After they called your number,
I said to myself
If you go back to the table
And sit down
I will stay here to eat too.
But you politely and prettily
Brushed your shell dust off the table
Into the brown paper “bowl”
And turned to leave with your dinner.
But then you turned around
And my heart,
Already uneasy knowing what I was about to ingest,
Beat twice where only one beat belongs.
What is she doing?
Ah filling your bag with more peanuts!
You naughty girl!
You know you are not supposed to do that.
There are explicit warnings and rules posted on the doors.
Peanuts are not to be removed from the premises.
You must have seen it. You’ve been here before.
I can tell by the way you scoop the peanuts.
And you walked by me to leave.
If you had met my glance, I would have made a lame joke.
Something about being careful not to kill anyone with those peanuts, maybe.
But into the rain you went, walking back to work, I presume.
If you had waited for number 30 to be called,
I’d have driven you safely through the rain to where you needed to go,
And bought you more peanuts than there are raindrops in the sky.
It appears the peanut thief of Ithaca, New York is also a thief of hearts. With nary a glance nor a hint of remorse she collects her winnings and departs without a word; leaving our poet to ponder what the world would be like if everything had happened differently.