The Tennis Pro

He saunters across the court

white shorted, naked chested

long dark hair pony tailed under a cap

A virile compilation of muscles and sinew

his body advertises some kind of service

The tennis togged mom with kids in tow

seem a likely target

and he hones his laser eyes

flashes strong teeth, bares a Klieg light smile

He swoops in on her distracted demeanor

and offers a card

Do the children need a pro,

read "do you?"

She laughs and returns the lob

Where are you from?

Argentina drips from his lips

like a mellow wine or blood

So, do you tango?

He laughs, "but not as well"

as he plays

She takes the card

and shakes his hand

which is cool and firm

and thinks "does he know that I know?"

He turns to leave

and the children scamper back

distracted by dogs and the afternoon's setting sun

Rackets in tow, she heads home

grateful for being noticed

and remembering a time when

she would have stayed in the game