The Betrayal


The Betrayal

There is a story hidden
In the majolica mug
that sits on the
terraza table.

Pasiano the gardener
echinacea tea
with honey

from this cup,

coughs loudly
behind the hand

that does not cradle
a telephone.

His sly smile
betrays a love story

as clearly as the small child
who sometimes
accompanies him to work.

Some senora’s, he tells me,
but the child has
his eyes and solid legs,
his shy manner,

lives with his mother
and her husband,
but sits on my steps
with a sugar cookie––

no more secrets

on purpose
than his father does.


This is a rewrite of a poem written 5 years ago. The prompt word today is betrayed.

9 thoughts on “The Betrayal

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