Game
By Lisbeth Coiman
I sprinkle you with a hose.
You throw back stong fragances
at my face and feet.
We continue like that for a while,
I throw water, you throw perfume,
until the mosquitos start
yet another blood transfusion.
The sun is setting
I walk to the faucet and turn off the water.
As I stump my feet on the door mat,
the oregano, thyme, basil, mint, cilantro and parsley
giggle off my body.
You win.
