A good deed, a soul connection, and a touchdown

This happened on a flat Sunday, almost 4th of July

so flat even God — he or she

wasn’t gonna go to church, the local church 

being so square and pale in its architecture 

and congregation; so hopeless and defeated in its music, 

out in Kansas City long ago in a soft, dreamy place called Brookside.  

I was out strolling, Señor Jobim on my Walkman,

going for my Sunday case of beer; I eased into the market, 

took a look at the clientele, not inspiring, maybe church had let out; 

they were devotedly praying hunching over their shopping carts, 

their little kids trying to make a run for it, and yet—

there was this one brave woman. 

She was swirling colors in her clothes, smart blue eyes like spotlights

wherever she looked, I could not take my eyes off of her 

and although she hadn’t seen me, I wanted to go over and shake her hand. 

She was powerful, she rotated around herself, 

but radiated out something that pulled objects (like me) in; 

she was private but spectacular

with a sensual, sniffing nose that may have been powdered in Paris. 

Meanwhile, gradually, nearly imperceptibly, everyone in the market 

(the second they saw her)

stood up straight off their carts, bright-eyed 

and bushy-tailed, all the way up out of prayer mode.  

There was music up above us, it changed the moment, a song called 

“The Captain of Her Heart” coming down; I knew it, looked at her, 

saw that she recognized it too, we made eye contact with each other 

(I felt fireworks all over me, 4th of July weekend had nothing to do with it), 

recognized that we both recognized the song, so, nothing else to recognize, 

she went back to the cooler full of white wines. She had frosty breath. 

I was being nonchalant in my fascination with her, on the surface

(she wasn’t looking my way anyway—I thought), got my case of beer 

from the opposite cooler, we both had frosty breaths in the cooler aisle. 

Behind me, she was humming, then singing 

to “The Captain of Her Heart.” I smiled; I smiled 

and turned around to harmonize with her 

but she was above me, and reaching higher!

She was standing on the low foot rail of her very full 

therefore rock-steady cart reaching for a bottle 

of Gallo white wine up high in the cooler, chilled 

and seemingly out of reach but she put her finger on it. 

Her finger set the bottle, and the rest of the day, 

and a lot of the rest of my life in motion; the bottle wobbled, 

got in a rhythm wilder, teetering … swinging side to side, falling, 

a fat gallon going down.                              (Yes, I dived. I dove!) 

I dove for the bottle like the wide receiver I once was but 

was never meant to be except for maybe 

in this moment with this woman 

and I caught the bottle cleanly cradling it from the hard linoleum 

(smashed the Walkman) and slid down the aisle 

into a soft display 

of paper towels for sale.

“Touchdown!” 

This from the woman (of course) as she flung her 

red velvet beret up in the air where it landed with a 

red velvet wobble on a security camera high in the supermarket ceiling

—apropos, you know?

We were stealing the show from the churchgoers. 

I got up, stacked back up the paper towels, 

the woman’s arms were still up in the air 

(she was too!) for the touchdown 

as she eased down from her cart with a big, bright smile. 

People watched us in churchly silence, 

a manager of the supermarket (name tag) arrived, 

I went around him, took the bottle to the woman, 

her arms came down, we looked each other over. 

Maybe it was a flat Sunday, both bored 

or maybe we were both Sunday lonely at home, 

or maybe we saw a new curvature 

of the earth, the two of us walking off out of orbit! 

Looking each other over, we began to smile.  

Like maybe it was that last thing. 

I’m in the book, she said. This was back then, 

in the days when there were those books. 

What’s your name? I asked. I was almost at the point

of telling her mine, to be gentlemanly. 

You’ll know it when you need it, she said. She had me there. 

I knew what she meant. And I knew it was on the horizon. 

That need; it was coming soon. 

She was maybe many years older 

but what did that have to with anything? 

I was simultaneously maybe many years younger. 

Fireworks are fireworks.