I stood about three inches taller
than him with my whopping 5’3”
frame. I tried not to stand too close,
tried not to look down at him
as no man would feel comfortable
having a woman hover above his
head. He had the sweetest smile
on his face as he hurried through my home
checking each vent, calculating
the air-flow temperature with
a hand-held machine. Hours before
his arrival, I was furious after enduring
five days of no air conditioning
in the humid Floridian heat. I was ready
to let him have it, to cuss him out
and let his company know I would be taking
my business elsewhere. His arrival had
changed all of that. He had a humble spirit
about him, willing to fix what was broken,
apologizing for the mistake he made while
servicing my machine five days earlier.
Usually, I gave into my anger, his kindness
caught me off guard and I accept his
apology. My anger dissipated. When his
task was completed, he went on his way.
I guess they’re wrong, this old dog can learn
a new trick.
Arlene Antoinette is a poet of West Indian birth who grew up in Brooklyn, New York. She graduated from Brooklyn College and worked as an instructor with special needs individuals for many years. You may find additional work by Arlene at Foxglove Journal, Little Rose Magazine, I am not a silent Poet, Tuck Magazine, The Feminine Collective, The Open Mouse, Amaryllis Poetry, Boston Accent Lit, Sick Lit Magazine, 50 Word Stories, The Ginger Collect, Neologism Poetry Journal and Your Daily Poem.