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He said,

“I’ll wait for you
wear your yellow hat, polka dot dress;
I’ll know it’s you,”
when she could recognize him
just by his smile.

She stumbled in late
eyes meeting the candy clean counter.
A length so long it dragged
like a conveyor belt of nuts and bolts.
She pressed on,
reaping empty glances
and crumb covered beards.
She tugged at the dress that
never fit.

She’d been used to watching sepia
portraits collect dust,
while she laced up boots,
ratty collared shirts and broad Levi’s
working the barrel and the machine

She kept her eyes on every man in that room.

Last booth seated a man
with a broken jaw to match his
broken watch. She caught the ticking
in her teeth, held her breath,
closed her eyes,
remembering the man who said
he’d remember her.

Six o’clock yellow hat polka dot dress
eyes of blue and gray circulating the rows
of burgundy sponged booths
light rain little fog
a haze in the eyes set in
after the ember rose exploded
a piece of his cheek
gorged out into the sea.

She could recognize him just by his smile.

burnt toast crusted stars national medallions, bronze and purple heart dangling from his neck   she wanted to ask about battle scars, the eternal dome, cradling his dead brother’s head   she’d kiss those wounds, steal a glance at the cemetery stones and then she wanted to ask him about the weather: was it nice  suit his blotchy skin  if he thought of her when the sun poured down on his bent body crumbling over mint-washed day   or when the rain sprinkled confusion and traumatic events on the bubbling ground?

She wanted to be his last thought
in midnight bunkers false star façade
Dream of me, your America.

She reached for his hand
then pulled back.