internet date number 471

she pulls a knife
on you, the very first
date and says,
stay back, don't
touch me, i don't
even know you. and
you say, hey, i was
just giving you
a hug goodbye. relax.
but she keeps the knife
up in the air.
it catches the reflection
of the pale full
moon above the almost
deserted parking lot
and the taco bell sign
across the street.
a styro foam box
containing her half
eaten salmon salad
that she said was too
salty is in her other
hand. you say, excuse
me, you have a little
bit of crab avocado
dip on your blouse,
she looks down and tries
to flick it off with
the tip of the blade,
but it's dried solid.
crap, she says, i just
bought this too,
then backs away slowly
until she bumps
into her car.
she clicks the key fob
to open the door,
the knife still
raised high in her
trembling hand.
call me she says
as she slides into her
seat. it was fun,
my treat next time.
give me ten minutes
to drive away and don't
try to follow me.
she rolls the window
down two inches.
i'm sorry about
the knife, she says.
i'm not really a mean
person. i don't
think i could
really stab anyone.
you seem like a
nice guy. it's cool,
you tell her, let's
talk soon, text me
next week, and wave
goodbye as she slams
the door and hits
the gas out
of the parking lot
the styro foam box
tumbling across
the roof of her car,
a half eaten slab
of salmon stuck
to the back window.