Poety

GUACAMOLE HOUR

BY LISA WILEY

    at the lake house


Five avocados wait on the sill,

a little conspiracy ripening,

as I wonder who they’re for.

Our host faces the sink,

goes to work while we sandwich.

And I still don’t realize what he’s up to

until he presents the gleaming glop —

emerald mix of mashed meat,

jalapenos, ruby onions, cilantro —

to our porch table overlooking the lake

where we two couples converse

about nothing and everything

all at once as the children interrupt a board game

to scoop up this delicious paste.

These enchanted moments

before the bowl is scraped clean.