This old, pink-faced guy with piggy eyes
brings me two chocolate-dipped strawberries
trembling a little on a paper plate, our wives
know each other but that’s all, I’m bored

silly at the outside party and I’m expecting
nothing, certainly not strawberries from a
weird stranger, does he feel sorry for me
or something, there’s no way he can realize

what a cold man my good father was, how
it touches me to have him hold out his hand
and ask, Do you like chocolate, especially when
I love chocolate, especially when it’s hardened

around a very large firm berry so your teeth
are held back a little, then let in.