the lettuce lunch

you have a wonderful aura
about you, she tells you
upon meeting for the first time.
oh, no, I tell her, that's
my phone, it got wet and
it won't turn off, it's here
in my shirt pocket.
see the light. I point
at the phone shining
brightly and beeping,
throwing a cloud of blue light
on my face. oh, she says.
we'll still, it's a nice
color for you. sometimes
when I meditate I see
the color blue. it's a calming
color. give me your hands,
she says, so I do.
she turns them over and touches
the lines along the palm.
very interesting, she says.
you are an interesting person.
have you ever done kitchen work.
I almost feel that you may
have worked in the food industry
in another life, perhaps as
a bus boy, or dishwasher.
I do like to do dishes, I tell
her, but lately it's been paper
plates. I believe in saving
as much water as possible.
this planet is the only one
we've got, right?
i'm falling in love, she says,
smiling brightly, I too
believe in being kind to this
planet we live on.
to the animals and plants.
it is our duty.
hungry? I ask her staring at
the menu, searching for a steak
sandwich that I can't order now.
i am she says.
I had yogurt for breakfast
and an organic grape. I
could use a good salad.
what kind of lettuces do they
have here? but no ice berg,
I read how horribly the field
workers are treated in harvesting
that lettuce.
I agree, I tell her, shaking
my head with disdain,
no ice berg for me either.
what are the other kinds?