Love that operates

Surgeons stroll together, poodle
prancing behind, lust after sailboats

vying for position on the windy lake,
shiver in silence on opposite ends

of a sullen bench. She texts her mom;
he yawns. They order new scalpels

from Amazon. Patients hide
amid shale, wait for wind to die.

Pompom must be about to freeze.
She agrees, tugs the leash,

rises to leave. They shuffle back
to matching SUVs, without words,

hands jammed into pockets,
his into his, hers into hers.

Timothy Pilgrim