Tribal Rite


You decide to kiss me 
passionately
in the hallway of the Native American artifacts,
right in front of a crowd of inanimate warriors
who people the display case to our left.
They circle the fire and
seem to mind their own business.
I like how you waited until
that bunch of bored school kids
moved quickly along to something 
they hoped might prove more exciting. 
They would never know
the folly of their impatience. 
For you like the intimacy of the public space,
the idea of the unexpected.
You grab my attention and more,
and while the guard in the next room 
daydreams about some upcoming vacation,
you make my history come alive now. 


-first published in Dead Flowers: A Poetry Rag