Personal Space

by Lori Lipsky

What a surprise you’ve never learned

No matter how many times you bump your

Tray into mine, you will reach the front

Of the cafeteria line at the same time

Unfilled seats abound

At the movie theater, but

You sit directly in front of me and

Drape your coat back so it hangs on my knees

One restroom stall occupied

Twenty still available

You choose the one

Closest to me

In the long line for the cashier

You hit my backside with your

Cart seven times

As we wait

Empty lockers at the gym

Are in plentiful supply

You pick the one

Adjacent to me

Groups of available chairs

Are open at the concert

You plop down

Right beside me

Must your hip touch my hip?

Must your shoulder rub my shoulder?

We’ve never met—the rule on a bench ought to be

Three inches on either side

Another moan squelched

You should hear my thoughts

A scream right now would

Lighten the load