A Bit Peek-ed

You okay, pardner?

My buddy asks

Leaning over his cup

At the Dixie Café.

You look a bit peek-ed

He says

From behind his sweeping

White moustache.

He straightens

In his chair

Glancing across the room

Searching those ears

He didn’t intend listen

To his pointed query.

He misses nothing

Observes everything

Knows my life

The way he knows

The bark of his dog

Or the sputter and growl

Of his truck.

My breath comes with effort

And my cup sits cooling before me.

I cover my left hand

To disguise the absence of the ring

That once hid the

Fish belly skin below the missing gold band.

Yeah

I say.

Just got the wind knocked outta me

Is all.