Just Passing Through

They weren’t open then, when
I was here that other time, either.
A thin guy in dirty coveralls
was working on an old coffee machine,
chrome and stainless steel and brass
spread out all over the countertop.
When I opened the door, the bell rang-
He looked up, said, “Are you staff?”
I didn’t know what he meant, but then
I thought he must mean did I work there,
or want to- So I said no, and he said
the opening wouldn’t be for another
week. I told him I was just passing through,
asked if he could recommend any other good places
to eat- He laughed, said “Yeah, right,”
like I’d said something funny,
and went back to tightening a fitting.

It was one of those moments when
you wonder if you’ve misunderstood,
or what just happened here, exactly.
I waited to see if he’d say
anything else, but he didn’t,
so I went out again. The parking lot
was empty that night too, and I remember
wondering where the guy’s truck was,
if maybe he lived there.
I remember looking back
at the yellow light from the windows,
and then turning away, heading out
to the road. It was cold then too,
and the road was the same,
that night, as it always is.


© Mark Reep 2006