He’s a pair of aviators
atop the bill of a muddy mesh cap.
She’s a dirty blond shoulder cut,
freshly lacquered French tip nails. 
 
The everyman/everywoman I’ve never been.
 
Whispers and smiles ease on in.
Not a honeymoon,
but sometime in the few years since.
Soon, there’ll be children,
more complicated trips–
strollers, diapers, bags of tiny goldfish,
aging parents, obligations adding to a continual list.
 
Pieces of life I mostly missed,
figuring out differences in youthful years
 
Inhabited now by the row ahead
contemplating the day’s most difficult fix–
who gets the chewy Ferrera Lemon Heads
and who gets the bright pink watermelon treats
she’s been hiding in her purse just for this.
 
The solution? Simple–
some of both, please.
With this I can’t help but agree
as the contrasts between us drift away,
if only in these passing, cloud-bound moments
bound towards new, adventurous paths.