Going Out After Work

26 the minnesota review Christine Deavel Going Out After Work First let her shake the shavings from her hair. They hook in uke silvered worms or river lures and cluster at her breasts. Let her remove them unwatched. Watch instead the last rotation of the lathe, or check the punch press switch, or just sit down and wait for her pale arm to slip between machines and pull up her dusted purse. When she washes she must soap up twice and dig at her nails, so look away. She will do the same for you, curling her fingers in a loose fist to find old lines of grease. But at the meeting place you can watch her as she pours the beer, notice her wrist. Look long at the scallop of her shoulders when she chooses a tune. And later, leave one lamp burning so you might stare at the hollow where her ribs divide. She will find the basin at your throat and watch you swallow and breathe. Last, let her leave while it's still dark. Daylight will deepen the strange bruises where her hip and your thigh pressed against the lathes. You will have to kiss her then, and look away. ...