I apologized between coughs
and sudden postnasal drip.
Then stopped myself from
dabbing his face with
a not-quite-clean table napkin.
Just hold a sec, I pleaded
before running for my digital.
In less than a minute, I had him
framed not-quite-happily
drinking coffee, his eyes
voodoo-prickng me
behind a raised cup.
It's for a magazine, I offered.
Looking at the snapshot
then at him, I paused.
With a critic's finger
I touched the sticky tan
on his chin and admitted
he was right all along.
