Demetri

Don't you just love,

big, solid Greek boys,

first thing in the morning.

Strip the suit jacket away,

pull off his tie

unbutton the white cotton.

Shirttails,

olive skin,

hairy thighs,

big feet,

black socks.

Big smile.

Shake my head.

Toothy grin.

Lift doors close.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Morning,” says Demetri.

Fresh and clean.

Good morning world, I think.

Demetri smiles at me.

I smile back.

I want to whistle,

but, of course, I don’t.