She’s pointing a camera
fit for a film studio at the window
of a deli selling egg mayonnaise baps.
She’s waving her left hand
and the man on the other side of the glass
is shuffling a few inches to his right
as if being flicked by magic.
He’s pretending to text on his phone.
His thumbs are moving too fast
to be realistic. She’s doesn’t say anything,
she just leans into the camera
as her tongue concentrates between her teeth.
I wonder who he‘s pretending to text.
I wonder if he’s pretending they will reply.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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