Wednesday Eve at the Doughnut Shop
One has to grip the glass first
before he can throw it,
he tells me as he moves his hand
towards our shared glass.
Far from our table,
a couple is wrapped
in their murmurs.
Now and then balloons
of laughter float around them
as their eyes mirror mist
for no other reason.
They’re having buttered
doughnuts, I conclude.
Far from their thoughts
but before them, I presume,
might be glasses with chipped edges.
He does not see
them, his eyes fastened
on our own glass. He firmly
holds it while I stroke his hand.
*This poem first appeared in Philippine Panorama, 1997
About the Author: Delora Sales Simbajon writes poetry from Mindanao, Philippines where she is based with her husband, Daryl. Some of her works have appeared online, in magazines and in anthologies: In Time Passing, There are Things; Brown Child: The Best of Faigao Poetry and Fiction 1984-2012; femi.nest: History and Poems of the Women in Literary Arts, among others. She is a recipient of the Home Life Magazine poetry award (Philippines). She works in communications but is also a certified life coach. She looks forward to publishing her poetry collection soon.
Image Credit: John Margolies “Dohman’s Donuts sign, Vicksburg, Mississippi” (1982) The Library of Congress
As It Ought To Be 