The small faced Korean
Man
Paints orange nail polish
My girlfriend's feet
He wears plastic gloves that

Don't fit
Quite

Rightly.

He is missing half a
Finger on
His right hand.

Robb and I talk
Again
Of the orange grove
He will inherit,

We make jokes
That cause the women
Rubbing our feet

To laugh and smile.

My feet begin to lose their
Hard earned callouses.

The soap they use smells
Like oranges.
The three of them

Walk over to a crock-***
To grab warm rocks
Robb asks if it's time

For chili

He had
not finished

His soup at lunchtime
As we talked of
Old stories
Some that left scars
And others
Callouses.

The soup grew cold
But the smiling
reminded me
It is springtime