by Joseph Chaney

“You’re getting older, and more sensible,
when all you want from the pretty busboy
is a foot rub,” I told my friend, who watched
the man wipe down the window, just inches
from her legs on the outside of the glass.
She felt his warm hands applying pressure
along her calf muscles, descending to
ankles and feet, and tugging tired toes.
In truth, I wanted steamed towels on my
shins, worn out from tramping on cobblestones.
Our tea, at least, was soothing.  The busboy
smiled.  He was wasting his care on the pane
when we sighed just beyond his grasp, needing
the skilled attention only he could give.


Joseph Chaney is publisher of Wolfson Press at Indiana
University South Bend.  He teaches English literature and
writing.  His poetry has appeared in many literary journals
Prairie Schooner, Poem, Crazyhorse, Spillway,
Stoneboat, Off the Coast, South Florida Poetry Journal,
Valparaiso Poetry Review, and The Cresset.  

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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary

ISSN 1931-3888

Volume 14, Number 2
(Fall 2019)

Copyright © 2019
by Leah Browning, Editor.  

All future rights to material
published in the
Valley Review
are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.