Walking down the Drive, my hand in hers.
Cold grocery bags banging against my creaky knees.
Headed home to drink wine, Saturday night.
"Adam and Eve not Thelma and Louise!"
An old man on a bicycle, wearing
reflective gear and a helmet.
"Fuck you. I hope you get hit by a car, homophobic prick,"
Only I didn’t say it.
Instead I looked at the store windows to my left.
As the bags kept banging,
and my feet kept walking.