A Drop of Honey by Don Gaddis


“Bye, honey.”

He said it
with a casual
Southern-sugar-daddy-gentlemanly drawl.
Surely I misheard,
or he misspoke.

Honey.
My mind drifted
and pilfered back through the years,
as if rummaging through a tin
of empty candy wrappers.

Nothing.

No “Baby-doll.” 
No “Sweetie-pie.”
Just the one, platonic drop of honey,
newly planted on my cheek-ear
via random phone call;
the sonic equivalent of a reflexive kiss,
that which seldom passes
from one man to another,
even when blood
sticks the two together
amiably.

I... didn’t... know... how... to... feel,
other than embarrassed.
I had rolled around in it.
A meager drop.
Alas, my honey starved soil was human.

Either he misspoke,
or I misheard.
Or he really loved me.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

It's nice to see a current picture of you. Sometimes I think of you and wonder how you are; hope you're doing well.

-Howie