Tinder Date, Part 2

Teeth are a good place to salvage DNA, you said, a bit casually.
I did not know at the time if I should have come up with an excuse
to leave the date early, or if I should have kept listening.

Maybe I should have taken notes while listening
to those true crime podcasts, interviews with seasoned investigators,
throats pitted and scarred from cigarettes and coffee acid.

Maybe I should have stayed up late with Grandma,
process, in earnest, Detective Hercule Poirot’s observations--
each carefully-coated in Murray's Superior mustache wax--
even if his silver-screen depiction was missing the gravitas to keep me awake.

You noticed that I was suddenly quiet. You stirred the soup in front of you.
Speaking of teeth, yours are very nice, very straight, you stated,
because you were hoping to break the silence, fill it with your voice, again.

I excused myself from the table.

I think that bistro is closed now. It’s too bad. They had excellent bread.


Note: Inspired by a friend's true story, recounted and embellished with her permission.