There he was at the Stop & Eat Diner
on Highway 31 outside Racine,
wearing those tight Levis,
long hair curled around his ears,
eating the daily special, the Baja Burrito.

When he slid out of his booth next to the jukebox
and stood those long legs up and looked around,
his eyes landed on me holding my old Samsonite,
hoping the Greyhound would whip
into the parking lot any minute.

But it didn’t so I took a risk and rode
in his 1972 Impala to O’Hare,
holding my breath all the way
through a relationship that lasted long distance
for a few sweet months.

I loved his last name, Caviar,
and I think of him every time
I catch a glimpse of it
at Whole Foods.

Janice is a poet who lives and writes in the desert of Tucson, Arizona, and on a lake in Wisconsin. Her poems have been published in Caesura, Amsterdam Quarterly, and Gyroscope Review among others. She’s lucky enough to have both loons and Sahuaros to inspire her.